JOHN  W.  MORGAN. 


BERKELEY 

LIBRARY 


OF 
CAMfORNIA 


BOOKS  A.HE  OU»*hEST  FRIENDS  — 

WHEN  WE  TIRE  OF  THEM  WE 

CAN     SHUT  THEM    UP 


me, 


J 

S 


DRAMATIC  POEMS 


BY 


HARRIETTS    FANNING   READ 


BOSTON: 

WM.   CROSBY    AND    H.   P.   NICHOLS, 

111  WASHINGTON  STREET. 

1848. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

HARRIETTS  FANNING  READ, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE  '. 
METCALF     AND      COMPANY 

PRINTERS  TO  THE  UNIVERSITY. 


/  3  T~ 

S3 


TO 
MRS.    JAMES    K.   PAIGE, 

AND 

THE     MANY     OTHER     FRIENDS     TO     WHOSE    ENCOURAGEMENT     I     AM 

INDEBTED    FOR    THE    SUCCESSFUL    COMMENCEMENT     OF 

MY    ENTERPRISE,    I    VENTURE    TO 

DEDICATE     THIS 

VOLUME 

IN     ACKNOWLEDGMENT     OF     THEIR 
AID    AND   SYMPATHY. 


807 


• 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  is  customary  for  persons,  on  first  presenting 
themselves  for  enrolment  in  the  motley  ranks  of  author 
ship,  to  offer  to  those  dreaded  inspectors,  the  critics, 
some  reason  for  appearing  before  them,  some  excuse 
for  deficiencies,  which  may  propitiate  or  soften  those 
guardians  of  the  public  taste.  In  adopting  this  usage, 
I  will  endeavour  to  be  concise.  It  has  been  said 
that  the  world  is  indebted  for  great  works  to  "  the 
pressure  of  want  without,  and  genius  within"  ;  but  to 
the  first  clause  of  the  above-cited  inspiration,  and  to 
a  love  of  publicity,  I  believe  it  is  conceded  that  we 
owe  a  large  portion  of  the  literature  of  the  nineteenth 
century ;  by  sufferance  and  custom,  the  former  has 
come  to  be  received  as  a  valid  plea  for  admission 
into  the  army  of  self-tormentors,  ycleped  authors. 
I  can  present  no  other. 

I  will  not  commit  the  mistake  of  offering  many 
statements  in  palliation  of  the  crudeness  of  these  per 
formances  ;  —  it  is  to  personal  friends  alone  that  we 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 


can  look  for  sympathy  or  patience  with  such  de 
tails  ;  —  one  only  shield  will  I  venture  to  place  be 
tween  their  defects  and  deserved  censure,  which  is, 
that  these  plays  were  written  between  the  age  of 
twenty  and  twenty- three,  a  period  at  which  much 
literary  power  or  finish  is  not  expected  even  of  the 
stronger  sex,  with  their  superior  opportunities  of 
thought  and  study.  With  this  excuse  (which,  if  not 
well  grounded,  must  vanish  before  the  first  glance 
of  fair  investigation)  I  will  intrude  no  longer  on  the 
attention  of  the  courteous  reader,  than  to  express 
here,  as  in  my  Dedication,  my  heartfelt  sense  of  the 
exceeding  kindness  and  encouragement  which  have 
enabled  me  to  persevere  in  an  undertaking  that  would 
have  been  otherwise  so  hazardous  and  painful. 

H.  F.  R. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

MEDEA,         ........  1 

ERMINIA;  A  TALE  OF  FLORENCE,      .        .        .        .99 

THE  NEW  WORLD, 197 


MEDEA. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


King  of  Colchis. 

ABSYRTUS, His  Son. 

JASON, A  Greek  Prince. 

ICARUS, His  Friend. 

CREON, King  of  Corinth. 

LYCUS, A  Slave. 

MEDEA, Daughter  of  Mtes. 

CREUSA, Daughter  of  Creon. 

IANTHE, Attendant  on  Medea. 

DIRCETIS, Attendant  on  Creusa. 

Followers  of  JEtes,   Creon,  and  Jason. 

Tfie  SCENE  during  the  first  two  acts  is  in  Colchis ;  for  the  remainder 
of  the  play,  in  Corinth. 


MEDEA. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.     An  apartment  in  the  palace  of  ^ETES.     Enter  ABSYRTUS 
and  I  AN  THE,  meeting. 

IANTHE. 

STAY,  gentle  prince,  thy  steps  ;  thy  sister  sleeps. 

ABSYRTUS. 

The  king  requires  her  presence. 

IANTHE. 

Even  for  him 

I  may  not  chase  her  slumbers,  for  to-day 
A  most  unwonted  gloom  oppresses  her, 
And  e'en  to  me,  of  her  attendant  train 
Most  favored,  her  accustomed  sweetness  fails. 

ABSYRTUS. 

Bid  her  come  forth,  and  view  the  glorious  scene 
Which  late  I  left.     'T  would  make  a  bondman's  heart 
Beat  free  from  gloom.     When  shall  I  be  a  man  ? 

IANTHE. 
What  is  't  inspires  thy  boyish  fancy  thus  ? 

ABSYRTUS. 

Seest  thou,  lanthe,  by  the  river's  side 
Yon  gallant  ship  ?     Full  fifty  warriors  thence  — 
1 


MEDEA. 


The  pride  of  Greece  —  have  landed  on  our  shores. 
Radiant  in  armour,  with  heroic  mien 
They  met  the  herald  whom  my  father  sent 
To  learn  their  purpose  here.     O  fair  lanthe, 
Hadst  thou  but  seen  their  chief,  Thessalian  Jason  ! 
Hadst  seen  his  towering  form,  his  flashing  eye, 
Whilst,  lightly  leaning  on  his  spear,  he  gazed 
On  all  around,  as  he  were  king  in  Colchis  ! 

IANTHE. 

What  seeks  he  here  ? 

ABSYRTUS. 

He  claims  the  golden  fleece,  — 
The  hallowed  offering  on  the  shrine  of  Mars,  — 
And  thinks  with  fifty  followers  to  enforce 
This  bold  demand  against  the  king,  my  father. 
And  yet,  lanthe,  he  is  but  a  youth,  — 
Has  scarce  seen  twenty  summers.     Fare  thee  well  ! 
When  I  'm  a  man,  and  bear  the  weight  of  armour, 
I  '11  not  be  less  a  hero  than  this  Jason, 
For  I  shall  be  a  king,  you  know,  lanthe.  [Exit. 

IANTHE. 

Greeks  !     How  my  heart  beats  at  the  sound  !     I  too 

Was  born  in  Thessaly's  loved  vales,  nor  can 

Forget  what  freedom  was,  though  gratitude 

To  my  sweet  mistress,  gentlest  of  her  sex, 

Forbids  the  captive's  sigh.     Could  I  but  see 

My  countrymen  !     Medea  sleeps  ;  —  I  '11  dare 

Desert  my  post,  — just  for  a  moment's  glance.  [Exit. 


MEDEA. 


SCENE  II. 

MEDEA  discovered  sleeping.     Slie  starts  from  her  couch. 

MEDEA. 

STAY  thine  unhallowed  hand  !     He  shall  not  die  ! 

Where  am  I  ?     What  enthralls  my  senses  thus  ? 

Ah,  was  't  a  vision  then,  yon  glorious  form  ? 

Return,  return,  bright  phantom  !  —  Thou  art  fled, 

And  with  thee  my  deluded  heart  has  sunk 

To  night  and  chaos.     Let  me  ever  dream  ! 

To  be  deluded  thus  is  of  more  worth 

Than  all  earth's  tame  realities.     It  moves 

Before  me  now  in  all  the  light  of  truth  ! 

Here- stood  the  king,  —  his  brow  inflamed  with  rage  ; 

His  murderous  falchion  raised  against  a  form, 

Ye  gods  !  so  like  yourselves  in  majesty, 

And  sunlike  beauty,  that  my  untamed  heart 

Owned  a  supremacy  ne'er  felt  before, 

Now  felt  but  to  be  mourned.     It  cannot  be 

A  thing  of  falsehood.     Falsehood  could  not  show 

In  forms  so  vivid.     O'er  it  still  would  hang 

Some  murky  vapor  to  betray  its  birth. 

Cease,  my  bewildered  heart,  these  fond  essays 

'Gainst  reason's  voice  !     Enamoured  of  a  dream  ! 

Tears  of  despair  and  shame  o'erflow  mine  eyes. 

Yet  why  despair  ?  for  some  benignant  power 

May,  in  its  prescient  wisdom,  thus  have  sent 


MEDEA 


These  shadowy  ministers  from  Lethe's  banks 

As  heralds  of  the  future.  — It  is  so  !  — 

The  air  is  redolent  of  perfume,  and 

A  strange,  mysterious  awe  o'erpowers  my  soul  ! 

Some  God  inspires  my  hopes  !    Bright  Queen  of  Heaven, 

Assure  my  troubled  heart !     Grant  me  some  sign 

That  madness  has  not  seized  my  wavering  soul  ! 

(A  peal  of  thunder  is  heard. ) 
Auspicious  omen  !     Mighty  Juno,  thanks  ! 
(Enter  IANTHE.) 

IANTHE. 

Princess, 

MEDEA. 

Who  calls  me  thus  from  heaven  to  earth  ? 

IANTHE. 

The  king 

MEDEA. 

What  of  the  king,  barbarian  ?     Speak  ! 

IANTHE. 

Commands  thy  presence  at  the  council-seat. 

MEDEA. 

Why  should  I  tremble  thus  ?     It  is  his  wont 
To  call  me  to  his  side  ;  why  should  I  fear 
Lest  mortal  eye  should  scan  this  fluttering  heart, 
And  read  the  page  traced  by  the  hand  of  Heaven  ? 

[Aside.    Exit. 

IANTHE. 

Some  heavy  care,  or  grief,  or  fear,  disturbs 


MEDEA. 


Her  gentle  breast.     This  agitation  's  strange, 
And  comes  across  her  tender,  graceful  mien, 
Like  storm-clouds  whirling  o'er  the  crescent  moon. 
(Enter  LYCUS.) 

LYCUS. 

How  's  this,  lanthe  ?     Musing  ?     Leave  dull  thoughts 
To  those  who,  free  of  hand,  are  slaves  in  mind, 
Fettered  by  Care,  who  hath  enfranchised  us. 

IANTHE. 

Of  such  I  mused.     Saw  you  the  princess  ? 

LYCUS. 

No. 

My  errand  was  to  bid  her  haste  her  steps 
To  the  king's  presence. 

IANTHE. 

She  is  gone  ;  but  with 

Such  strange  disorder  in  her  looks  and  words 
As  made  me  wonder. 

LYCUS. 

Call'st  thou  that  a  cause 
Of  wonder  ?     Ah,  lanthe  !   't  is  more  strange 
That  reason  ever  guides  the  looks  or  speech 
Of  one  who  lives  defying  all  her  laws. 

IANTHE. 

What  mean'st  thou,  Lycus  ? 

LYCUS. 

No  enigma,  dear. 
Nature  nor  reason  formed  your  gentle  sex 


MEDEA. 


To  deal  in  magic  arts, —  save  those  of  Love,  — 

To  brave  the  gods,  by  rending  the  dark  veil 

They  place  between  us  and  their  mysteries,  — 

To  waste  the  nights,  which  Nature  gave  for  rest, 

In  vigils  passed  in  dark  companionship 

With  fiends  and  ghosts,  forced  from  their  dire  abode 

In  Pluto's  realm,  —  to  fright  the  very  stars 

From  their  accustomed  spheres,  by  horrid  rites 

At  Hecate's  shrine,  — what  gain  ye  by  such  power  ? 

Raised  above  mortals,  still  beneath  the  gods  ;  — 

The  first  both  fear  and  shun  the  sorceress  ; 

The  latter  mock  her  meagre  emulation 

Of  godlike  power  and  wisdom.     She  gains  not 

The  pride  of  heaven,  —  loses  the  bliss  of  earth. 

My  life  upon  't,  Medea  never  loved. 

IANTHE. 

She  loves  me  well. 

LYCUS. 

The  good  gods  bless  her  for  't  ! 
But  think'st  thou  she  hath  ever  loved  —  as  we  love  ? 

IANTHE. 

No  ;  for  a  heart  like  hers  could  only  yield 
To  one  of  as  rich  worth. 

LYCUS. 

Then  she  can  love  ? 

IANTHE. 

Ay  ;  her  young  heart  's  a  mine  of  pure  affection, 
From  which  no  common  hand  hath  ever  gained 


MEDEA. 


A  single  gem  ;  he  who  wins  aught  wins  all ; 
But  he  must  show  his  title  to  the  prize 
In  spotless  truth,  heroic  deeds,  and  love 
Ardent,  unwavering,  as  the  sun's  bright  rays. 
Apollo's  self  might  covet  such  a  bride. 

LYCUS. 

Thy  praises,  flowing  from  a  grateful  heart, 
Grace  thee  as  much  as  her.     But  hark  thee,  love, 
What  says  she  to  my  suit  for  thee  ?     'T  is  long 
Since  Love  hath  bound  our  hearts  ;  is  it  not  time 
To  offer  sacrifice  at  Hymen's  shrine  ? 

IANTHE. 

What  should  she  say,  whose  wishes  ever  tend 
To  others'  happiness  ?     She  bade  me  bear 
Her  full  consent  to  thee,  and  earnest  prayer 
That  all  the  gods  may  smile  upon  us.     Come, 
I  '11  show  thee  gifts  her  kindness  hath  bestowed. 

LYCUS. 

May  she  be  happy  as  she  now  makes  us  ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

A  public  place  near  the  palace ;  in  the  centre  a  throne.     Enter  ^ETES, 
attended  by  nobles  and  guards. 

JETES. 

WHY  stay  these  strangers  ?     Are  they  warned  the  king 
Waits  their  approach  ? 


MEDEA 


NOBLE. 

Dread  sovereign,  they  appear. 

^ETES. 

The  princess,  too.     We  ordered  her  attendance. 
Why  lingers  she  ? 

(Enter  MEDEA.) 

MEDEA. 

My  father  and  my  king  ! 
(Enter,  opposite,  JASON  and  the  ARGONAUTS.    MEDEA  sinks  at 

the  king's  feet,  as  she  perceives  JASON.) 
My  dream  !  my  dream  !     Protect  me,  wife  of  Jove  ! 

JETES. 

What  folly  's  this  ?     Tremblest  thou  at  a  word  ? 
Arise  ;  remember  now  thou  art  a  princess. 

MEDEA. 

Alas,  't  is  now  I  know  myself  a  slave  !  [Aside. 

JETES. 

Strangers,  let  him  who  calls  himself  your  chief 
Stand  forth,  and  say  by  what  design  or  chance 
You  press  the  shores  of  Colchis. 

JASON. 

I  am  he, 

Whom  my  brave  comrades,  the  good  gods  consenting, 
Have  placed  as  leader  of  our  enterprise  ; 
Jason,  the  heir  to  fair  lolcos'  throne, 
Whence,  in  mine  infancy,  Pelias  cast 
My  sire,  its  monarch.     Most  unwillingly 
I  offer,  sovereign  ^Etes,  to  your  ear 


MEDEA. 


This  dull  recital  of  a  stranger's  wrongs  ; 
But  dire  Necessity  thus  orders  it, 
To  whom  even  Jove  submits. 

JETES. 

Proceed  to  say 
What  dire  necessity  conducts  thee  here. 

JASON. 

Soon  as  to  manhood's  strength  ambition's  hopes 
Dared  look  for  confirmation,  I  approached 
The  tyrant,  who,  enthroned  amid  my  subjects, 
Suspected  not  a  rival,  and  in  words 
Where  prudence  wrestled  with  my  lawful  passion, 
I  claimed  my  birthright.     The  usurper  shook 
With  guilty  fears.     Although  around  the  throne 
His  armed  warriors  closed,  and  I,  a  youth, 
With  no  defence  save  the  invisible  arms 
Of  the  just  gods,  stood  there  within  his  power, 
He  dared  not,  even  by  sign,  command  my  death, 
But  with  evasive  speech  strove  to  content  me. 
These  were  his  words,  for  which  I  crave  your  patience  :  — 
"  Late  to  my  slumbers  came  the  frowning  shade 
Of  Phryxus,  my  unhappy  kinsman,  who 
Bade  me  remember  that  the  golden  fleece, 
Celestial  gift,  remained  to  bless  a  land 
Remote  from  Thessaly.     The  vision's  will 
Must  not  be  disobeyed  :  but  I  am  old,  — 
By  nature's  laws  unfit  for  enterprise  ; 
Therefore  go  thou  ;  to  Colchis  speed  thy  way  ; 
2 


10  MEDEA. 


Regain  the  golden  fleece,  and  here  I  swear 
By  Jupiter,  our  common  ancestor, 
No  act  of  mine  shall  bar  thee  from  thy  right, 
But  my  own  hand  place  on  thy  head  the  crown." 
He  ceased  :  I  joyfully  accept  his  bidding. 
Through  tedious  ways,  and  weary  toils,  at  length 
Behold  the  destined  land,  and  from  its  king 
Request  the  precious  relic,  which  the  gods 
Ordained  the  spur  and  recompense  of  valor. 


Insolent  pirate  !     Lightnings  blast  thy  tongue, 
And  thunders  drown  thy  evil-boding  voice  ! 
Though  thou  couldst  beard  a  Greek  upon  his  throne 
And  live,  so  shalt  thou  never  do  in  Colchis  ! 
Down  to  the  infernal  gods,  whose  lying  dreams 
Have  sent  thee  here,  as  fitting  sacrifice 
To  Phryxus'  angry  manes  ! 

MEDEA. 

On  thy  life, 

Forbear  !     The  gods  with  awful  wrath  pursue 
The  wretch  whose  sacrilegious  hand  is  raised 
Against  a  guest.     Dare  ./Etes  war  with  Jove  ? 

J3TES. 

Away  !    his  rashness  doth  insult  the  powers 
Whose  rights  you  vainly  urge.     The  prize  he  seeks, 
Bestowed  on  Phryxus  by  Apollo's  grace, 
Descends  from  him  to  me  ;  —  a  talisman 
Which  brings  such  priceless  blessings  to  my  country, 


MEDEA.  11 


That  he  who  asks  that,  next  may  ask  my  crown. 

JASON. 

'T  is  with  Apollo's  self  you  war,  O  king  ! 
The  Delphian  oracle  declares  the  fleece 
Destined  to  crown  my  toils  ;  no  right  hast  thou 
To  the  celestial  gift,  from  Phryxus  won 
By  guilt  inhospitable. 

jETES. 

Seize  him,  guards  ! 
Him  and  his  robber  crew  !  —  What  do  ye  dread  ? 

MEDEA. 

Medea's  glance  !     What  Colchian  dare  assail 
Where  she  defends  ?     By  all  the  gods,  who  stirs 
To  thwart  my  will  shall  meet  with  pangs  more  dire 
Than  ever  racked  Prometheus'  rock-bound  frame  ! 

JETES. 

How  's  this  ?     The  earth-contemning  ministrant 
At  Hecate's  shrine  thus  mindful  of  a  mortal  ! 
Weigh'st  thou  a  stranger  'gainst  thy  native  land  ? 
Weigh'st  thou  a  stranger  'gainst  thy  father's  honor  ? 

MEDEA. 

Country  nor  friends  I  weigh  against  the  gods. 

Say,  when  the  supreme  majesty  of  heaven 

Deigns  interfere  to  save  a  mortal's  life, 

Shall  I  refuse  its  task  ?     A  vision,  sent 

By  sovereign  Juno,  shaped  my  present  course, 

To  save  thy  hand  from  blood  which  she  protects. 


12  MEDEA. 


JETES. 

I  yield,  Medea.     To  such  power  as  thine 
Even  kings  are  subject.     I  may  thank  the  gods, 
Who  made  thee  gentle,  when  they  made  thee  strong. 
Jason,  the  princess'  mercy  claims  thy  knee. 
But  for  her  boldness,  thou  and  all  thy  train 
Ere  this  had  fallen  beneath  my  lawful  wrath. 

JASON. 

To  her,  as  to  the  guardian  queen  of  heaven, 
With  grateful  heart  I  thus  present  my  homage. 

MEDEA. 

Warrior,  pay  reverence  to  the  king  of  Colchis, 
Not  to  his  child  and  subject. 

jETES. 

Jason,  hear  ! 

This  grace  the  king  accords  thee  :  thou  art  free, 
Since  Heaven  regards  thy  life,  to  leave  my  court ; 
But  if  thy  desperate  valor  prompt  thee  still 
Towards  thine  unattainable  desire, 
Learn  through  what  toils  and  dangers  you  must  seek 
The  temple  of  great  Mars,  upon  whose  shrine 
Reposes  the  rich  prize.     First  must  be  yoked 
Two  bulls,  dreadful  with  horns  and  feet  of  brass, 
Breathing  forth  poisonous  flames  ;  with  these  thy  hand 
Must  plough  a  space  of  earth  ;  a  dragon's  teeth 
Then  in  the  furrows  sow  ;  they  spring  forth  men  ! 
With  spear  and  shield  they  hotly  seek  the  fight. 


MEDEA.  13 


These  slain,  next  quell  the  huge  and  watchful  dragon, 
Whose  hideous  length  lies  coiled  before  the  altar. 
But,  ere  with  sacrilegious  hand  you  seize 
The  glittering  spoil,  forget  not  first  with  prayer 
To  deprecate  the  vengeance  of  the  god. 

JASON. 

I  will  implore  his  aid,  nor  doubt  the  boon. 

A  warrior  is  the  votary  of  Mars, 

Whose  shield  is  ever  spread  to  guard  his  life, 

Whose  smile  beams  through  the  darkest  clouds  of  war, 

At  once  the  beacon  and  the  lure  to  glory. 

JETES. 

Go,  then  ;  prepare  thy  arms,  and  look  thy  last 
Upon  the  orb  of  day  ;  for  he  and  thou 
Will  sink  in  night  together. 

JASON. 

I  accept 

The  omen,  king  ;  he  sinks,  to  rise  again 
In  splendor,  warmth,  and  strength  renewed.     Hope  not 
To  see  me  yield,  but  as  he  yields,  to  rise, 
Exulting  in  new  vigor.     By  the  gods  ! 
The  conqueror's  pride  swells  now  within  my  breast. 

[Exit,  with  his  train. 

jETES. 

Go,  boastful  youth,  short-lived  thy  conquering  pride  ! 
Nor  men  nor  gods  shall  force  me  to  behold 
A  boyish  Greek  insult  my  rank  and  power, 
Challenge  my  claims,  and  bear  my  spoils  away  ! 


14  MEDEA. 


(To  MEDEA.) 

Since  mortal  hand  must  not  attack  this  foe, 
See  that  the  aids  of  magic  fail  me  not. 

[Exit,  with  followers. 

MEDEA. 

Teach  me,  O  Love,  to  save,  or  perish  with  him  ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV. 
Before  the  temple  o/"  HECATE.     Enter  JASON  and  ICARUS. 

JASON. 

No  more,  Icarus  ;  on  this  enterprise 

I  perilled  all,  and  all  is  lost.     To  hope 

Were  weakness.     For  myself  I  have  no  fear, 

But  my  brave  friends  thus  ruined  hy  my  madness  ! 

Would  I  had  fifty  lives,  that,  one  by  one, 

I  might  resign  them  as  my  comrades'  ransom  ! 

ICARUS. 

Hope  dwells  with  life,  nor  will  she  be  repelled 

By  wisdom  or  despair.     To-day  thy  life 

Seemed  forfeit,  but  kind  Heaven  sent  aid,  —  such  aid 

As  well  might  make  grim  Death  forego  his  purpose, 

And  give  life  double  sweetness. 

JASON. 

It  is  that 

Gives  death  its  horrors.     Love,  Icarus,  love 
Attacked  me  from  her  eye,  as  now  it  gleamed 


MEDEA.  15 


Defiance  on  my  foes,  now  fell  on  me 
With  soul-subduing  sweetness,  while  a  tint, 
Soft  as  the  morn's  first  blush,  suffused  her  cheek 
Beneath  my  grateful  gaze.     Ye  gods  !  to  die, 
When  Love's  elysium  first  bursts  on  the  soul  ! 
Better  a  thousand  deaths  in  the  heart's  torpor, 
Than  one  at  such  awakening  ! 

ICARUS. 

E'en  that  one 

Thou  shalt  not  suffer.     She  who  saved  thee  then 
Can  save  thee  now,  and  all  with  thee.     Seek  her  ; 
With  equal  fervor  breathe  thy  love  to  her, 
As  now  to  me,  nor  fear  for  the  result. 
Go,  match  fair  Venus'  mischief-making  boy 
At  his  own  weapons.     Would  thine  were  my  lot  ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. 

The  temple  of  HECATE.     Enter  MEDEA. 

MEDEA. 

HAIL  to  this  hallowed  dome  !     Here  can  I  breathe 
In  freedom  ;  here,  in  secret,  meditate 
On  saving  him  I  love  ;  —  I  love  !  —  my  lips 
Tremble  in  uttering  such  unwonted  sounds. 
I  love  !  — Love  whom  ?  — A  stranger,  who  insults 
My  father's  power  and  seeks  my  country's  wealth  ? 
A  wandering  exile  ?     Princess,  let  thy  heart 


16  MEDEA. 


Beat  with  far  other,  higher  aspirations  !  — 

Love  !     What  know  I  of  love  ?     Vain  dream,  away  ! 

'T  is  but  my  fancy's  momentary  freak, 

For  oft  she  aims  at  us  Love's  headless  darts, 

Which  startle  us,  but  wound  not.     'T  is  not  love  ! 

My  reason  soars  again  !  —  But  must  he  die  ? 

Shall  savage  bulls,  in  most  unequal  strife, 

With  brazen  horns  tear  out  his  warrior  heart, 

And  crush  that  brow  where  dignity  and  grace 

Are  stamped  as  on  the  young  Apollo's  front  ? 

Must  I  behold  the  eyes,  so  full  of  hope, 

Rolling  in  the  fierce  agonies  of  death  ? 

Ah,  men  and  gods  forbid  the  unholy  strife  ! 

Forbid  it,  Love  !     I  writhe  beneath  thy  darts, 

And  nature  rends  away  the  filmy  veil 

With  which  I  vainly  sought  to  blind  her  eyes. 

(Enter  JASON.) 
What  wouldst  thou  here  ? 

JASON. 

To  thank  thee  for  my  life. 

MEDEA. 

A  princess  takes  not  e'en  the  hire  of  thanks 
For  princely  deeds  ;  rather  address  the  gods 
To  guard  thee  'gainst  the  coming  dangers. 

JASON. 

Ah! 
Who  looks  from  present  bliss  to  future  ill  ? 


MEDEA.  17 


MEDEA. 

The  truly  great  !     Else  are  they  but  the  tools 
Of  time  and  chance.     Aim'st  thou  to  be  of  those. 
Look  to  the  future.     Pray  Minerva's  aid, 
Ere  you  seek  that  of  Mars  ;  nor  think  that  I 
Can  give  thee  wisdom,  as  I  gave  thee  life. 

JASON. 

I  do  implore  both  deities,  and  draw 

Their  inspiration  from  thine  eyes.     They  are 

But  two.     Dared  I  but  hope  thou  wouldst  admit 

Bright  Venus  to  the  council,  that  her  smile 

Might  lend  its  softness  to  Minerva's  lip, 

And  gild  the  rugged  front  of  Mars,  then,  then, 

With  earnest  prayer  I  'd  hail  the  heavenly  three, 

And  raise  an  altar  to  propitious  Fortune. 

MEDEA. 

What  hath  the  gentle  mother  of  the  Loves 
To  do  where  Death  hath  warrant  to  intrude  ? 

JASON. 

To  soften  the  grim  tyrant  with  her  tears, 
And  charm  him  by  her  smiles  ;  to  turn  aside, 
With  heavy  sighings  of  her  fragrant  breath, 
His  cruel  dart  ;  then  raise  to  life  and  hope 
The  rescued  suppliant. 

MEDEA. 

I  must  hear  no  more  ! 

JASON. 

Stay,  princess,  I  implore  thee  !     To  what  end 
3 


18  MEDEA. 


Didst  thou  avert  thy  father's  falchion,  since 
A  deadlier  peril  doth  encompass  me  ? 
Let  me  not  dare  to  think  you  saved  my  life 
To  offer  me,  in  ruthless  sacrifice, 
To  foes  beyond  the  prowess  of  a  mortal  ! 

MEDEA.* 

Ye  heavens,  bear  witness  that  it  was  not  so  ! 

JASON. 

Didst  thou  bend  on  me  thy  resistless  glance, 
Teaching  my  heart  the  most  enthralling  charm 
That  earth  can  boast,  —  bestowing  thus  on  life 
A  new  attraction,  —  but  to  give  Death  a  horror, 
Which  his  own  grim  aspect  could  ne'er  impart  ? 

MEDEA. 

Why  dost  thou  torture  me  with  these  wild  words  ? 

JASON. 

Great  Mars  attest,  that  but  a  short  hour  since 
I  would  have  spurned  the  prophet  to  my  feet, 
Who  had  foretold  that  Jason  would  have  shrunk 
From  danger,  or  from  death  ;  now  is  my  heart 
Humbled  by  Venus'  power,  and  I  will  sue 
To  thee  for  life,  —  if  with  that  life  thou  'It  give 
Thy  love 

MEDEA. 

Rash  stranger,  this  is  madness  !  —  Yet 
I  am  most  mad,  who  listen,  but  should  fly  ! 

JASON. 

Thou  canst  not  fly,  for  Pity  bars  the  way. 


MEDEA.  19 


O,  let  her  plead  for  me,  and  Love  for  both  ! 

MEDEA. 

And  if  they  should,  Nature  would  plead  against  them. 
My  father,  country,  friends,  her  hand  presents,  — 
An  awful  shield  'gainst  the  darts  of  Love  ! 

JASON. 

'T  is  true  ;  and  I  depart  to  die  ;  for  see  ! 

Thy  fierce  barbarians  hurry  to  the  spot 

From  which  my  dying  groans  must  glut  their  ears  ; 

And  with  slow  pace  my  brother-warriors  go 

To  meet  their  doom  in  mine.     Distracting  thought ! 

Ah,  mighty  princess,  hear  my  prayer  for  them, 

My  much-loved  friends  !  Save  them,  — thou  only  canst,  — 

For  they  have  wives,  and  fair  affianced  brides, 

In  their  own  land  of  Greece  ! 

MEDEA. 

And  for  thyself  ? 

JASON. 

I  have  nor  wife,  nor  bride.     I  would  not  take 

Life  as  a  boon,  though  kings  stooped  to  implore  me, 

Unless  Medea's  love  enriched  the  gift. 

Though  life  with  her  were  an  Elysium* 

Without  her  smile  it  seems  so  dark  and  drear, 

I  cast  it  off,  as  captives  do  their  chains, 

And  look  for  joy  in  death. 

MEDEA. 

Then,  Jason,  live  ! 
Medea  bids  thee  live  for  her  —  and  Love. 


20  MEDEA. 


JASON. 

Does  Fate  relent  ?     I  thank  the  bounteous  gods, 
Who,  while  I  blamed  their  rigor,  had  in  store 
A  blessing  worthy  an  immortal's  envy. 
Bright  star  of  hope,  O,  speak  !  confirm  again 
My  raptures  !     Hark  !    upon  yon  plain  of  death 
They  clamor  for  the  victim.     I  must  hence. 

MEDEA. 

Go,  Jason,  fearless,  to  the  monstrous  combat  ; 
It  hath  no  dangers  to  Medea's  lord. 

[Exeunt  severally. 


MEDEA.  21 


ACT    II. 

SCENE  I.     Enter  LYCUS  and  IANTHE,  meeting. 

IANTHE. 

THY  looks  bespeak  great  news  ;  what  of  the  fight  ? 

LYCUS. 

Joy,  joy,  lanthe,  chokes  my  utterance. 
Jason  hath  burst  the  snares  of  magic  power, 
And  stands  triumphant  'mid  the  wondering  crowd. 

IANTHE. 

O,  stop  not  there  !     Say,  how  was  this  achieved  ? 

LYCUS. 

The  gods  have  aided,  for  no  earthly  skill 

Could  thus  have  quelled  unearthly  enemies. 

Low  bowed  the  savage  bulls  their  mighty  necks, 

And  from  the  warrior's  hand  the  slavish  yoke 

Received  with  fear,  and  then,  with  sullen  steps, 

But  unresisting,  dragged  the  servile  plough 

Across  the  appointed  space  ;  with  hasty  hand 

Jason  dispersed  upon  the  furrowed  soil 

The  dragon's  teeth  ;  forth  sprung  the  wondrous  birth 

Of  warriors,  panting  for  the  fight  ;  they  joined 

In  strife  unequal ;  every  side  they  press 

The  hapless  Greek  with  blows  ;  still  he  maintains 


22  MEDEA. 


Such  conflict  as  a  single  arm  can  hold. 

His  falchion  snaps  in  twain  ;  he  sinks,  he  dies  ! 

No,  he  but  bends  to  snatch  from  favoring  earth 

Another  weapon,  in  a  ponderous  stone. 

With  well-directed  aim,  and  vigorous  arm, 

He  hurls  it  'midst  his  thronging  enemies  ; 

When,  wondrous  to  behold  !  the  war  is  changed  ! 

Each  dragon-sprung  combatant  turns  his  force 

Against  his  brother  ;  bloody  strife  they  wage, 

Until  not  one  is  left ;  and  Jason  stands 

The  conqueror,  where  he  thought  to  find  his  doom  ! 

IANTHE. 

How  bore  the  king  this  unexpected  end  ? 

LYCUS. 

Shame  and  revenge  sat  darkling  on  his  brow  ; 
Then,  starting  from  his  seat,  he  waved  his  hand, 
And,  followed  by  his  court,  rushed  from  the  scene. 
Freed  from  the  terrors  of  his  glance,  the  crowd, 
Both  Greeks  and  Colchians,  raise  the  loud  acclaim. 
Let  me  too  shout,  Jason  and  liberty  ! 

IANTHE. 

Mock  not  our  fates  with  that  forbidden  word. 

LYCUS. 

By  all  the  gods,  it  shall  not  long  be  so  ! 
(Enter  MEDEA  in  the  background.) 
What  wouldst  thou  risk  for  Greece  and  liberty  ? 

IANTHE. 
My  life  !  my  life  !  and  only  ask  to  breathe 


MEDEA.  23 


Its  latest  sigh  upon  my  native  shores. 

LYCUS. 

It  shall  be  so.     Hold  thou  a  constant  mind, 
And  we  711  elope  with  these  our  countrymen. 
?T  will  not  be  hard,  so  trusted  as  we  are, 
To  effect  this  purpose.     Look'st  thou  doubtingly  ? 
Canst  thou  refuse  ? 

IANTHE. 

No,  but  there  's  one,  of  whom 
I  dare  not  ask  approval  of  my  flight. 

LYCUS. 

Medea  ? 

IANTHE. 
Gratitude. 

MEDEA  (coming  forward). 

Both  bid  thee  fly  ! 

Blush  not,  nor  kneel  for  pardon,  but  receive 
My  full  and  free  consent.     Lycus,  go  thou  ; 
Swiftly  and  secretly  prepare  to  leave 
Colchis  and  slavery  this  night.     Stay  not 
For  further  question.     Thou  art  free.     Begone  ! 

[Exit  LYCUS. 

My  gentle  girl,  why  look'st  thou  fearfully  ? 
Think'st  thou  my  reason  hath  deserted  me  ? 
But,  though  it  still  abide  within  my  brain, 
It  hath  no  power  upon  the  jarring  thoughts 
That  rage  in  unrestrained  rebellion  there, 
lanthe,  thou  art  but  in  name  a  slave  ; 


24  MEDEA. 


For  in  my  heart  I  placed  thee  as  a  friend. 
Hast  thou  not  felt  it  so  ? 

IANTHE. 

I  have,  my  princess. 
O,  teach  me  to  repay  the  debt  ! 

MEDEA. 

Then  be 

More  than  a  friend  ;  O,  be  my  elder  sister  ! 
For  much  I  need  a  sister's  aid  and  counsel. 

IANTHE. 

The  first  I  render  as  a  sacred  due  ; 
But  for  the  last,  who  to  Medea  can 
So  well  give  counsel  as  Medea's  self. 

MEDEA. 

Not  when  my  reason  and  my  heart  each  strive 
To  gain  the  mastery.     Yet  to  thy  breast 
I  '11  dare  intrust  my  thoughts  ;  I  '11  dare  to  speak, 
If  thou  hast  strength  to  hear. 

IANTHE. 

Thy  looks  are  strange  ! 
If  that  which  thou  wouldst  say  refers  to  me, 
Delay  it  not. 

MEDEA. 

lanthe,  thou  hast  seen 

Lycus,  thy  chosen  lord,  depart  in  freedom  : 
Did  it  not  glad  thy  heart  ? 

IANTHE. 

Princess,  it  gave 
New  life  to  it. 


MEDEA.  25 


MEDEA. 

Didst  thou  not  hope  to  share 
This  freedom  with  him  ? 

IANTHE. 

How  !     What  means  Medea  ? 

MEDEA. 

If  Fate  decree  that  he  alone  shall  view 
His  native  Greece,  and  thou  still  linger  here 

IANTHE. 

Fate  first  must  slay  me  !     Princess,  on  my  knee 
I  pray  revoke  the  cruel  supposition  ! 
Thou  art  our  Fate,  thou  only  canst  decree  this. 

MEDEA. 

Could  nothing  tempt  thee  to  remain  in  Colchis,  — 
Medea's  friendship,  wealth  and  rank,  a  lord 
From  the  most  noble  of  our  Colchian  warriors  ? 

IANTHE. 
Were  the  world  offered  me  I  should  despise  it. 

MEDEA. 

Suppose  thou  wert  in  Greece,  in  thine  own  land,  — 
Dearer,  because  thine  own,  than  fair  Elysium,  — 
With  all  the  ties  of  parents,  sisters,  brothers, 
Kindred,  and  country  strong  within  thy  breast ; 
Wouldst  thou,  for  Lycus,  rend  those  quivering  bonds, 
And  trust  thy  bleeding  heart  with  confidence 
To  him,  —  a  stranger,  from  a  distant  land,  — 
And  find  thy  home,  thy  kindred,  — ay,  thy  life,  — 

In  him  ? 

4 


26  MEDEA. 


IANTHE. 

Attest  it,  Truth  ! 

MEDEA. 

The  oracle 

Of  nature  doth  address  me  through  her  lips  ! 
Fear  not,  lanthe,  that  I  would  destroy 
The  frailest  tenure  of  thy  happiness. 
Draw  nearer,  lest  the  echo  of  my  words 
Should  steal  unto  my  tyrant  father's  ear. 
As  thou  hast  said,  even  so  will  I  perform. 
Hark  thee  !     'T  was  I  who  tamed  yon  furious  beasts  ! 
'T  was  I  who  pointed  out  the  magic  stone, 
Which  turned  upon  each  other  the  fell  power 
Of  Jason's  hellish  foes  !     Still  there  remains 
Another  task,  —  the  watchful  dragon's  eye 
To  be  eluded  ;  with  Lethean  dew 
In  magic  slumber  will  I  seal  his  senses  ; 
Seize  then  the  golden  fleece,  and  swiftly  mount 
The  gallant  Argo,  blest  in  Jason's  love, 
And  looking  on  the  future  through  his  eyes  ! 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

Before  the  temple  O/*MARS.     Enter  JASON. 

JASON. 

HERE  did  my  sweet  enchantress  bid  me  wait 
The  last  hard  task  her  tyrant  sire  ordained  ;  — 


MEDEA.  27 


A  task  not  hard  to  me,  who,  safely  borne 
On  Cupid's  pinions,  o'er  such  perils  skim. 
What  need  he  fear,  whose  path,  however  dark, 
The  gentle  smile  of  Love's  bright  queen  illumes, 
While  Mars,  for  her  sake,  with  his  warlike  arm 
Dashes  aside  the  dangers  of  the  way  ? 
(Enter  MEDEA  from  the  temple.) 

MEDEA. 

The  foe  hath  sunk  'neath  sleep's  resistless  wand. 
Go  fearlessly,  and  seize  the  prize  :  I  cannot,  — 

[Exit  JASON. 

I  cannot  gather  strength  thus  to  despoil 
My  father  of  the  thing  he  holds  so  dear, 
Although  't  was  won  by  blood,  the  innocent  blood 
Of  Jason's  murdered  kinsman  !  —  Deities 
Of  heaven  and  hell,  aid  and  protect  me  now  ! 
At  this  drear  hour  of  earthly  stillness,  ye 
From  Ida's  groves,  with  ever-beaming  eyes 
That  pay  no  tribute  to  Lethean  waves, 
Behold  your  votaress  !     No  visible  form 
Is  near,  but  the  cold,  stern,  unwavering  glance 
Of  Destiny  is  fixed  upon  my  soul, 
Bidding  me  scan  again  its  hopes,  and  fears, 
And  secret  motives,  in  whose  knowledge  she 
Must  hold  communion  with  me.     'T  is  the  hand 
Of  Destiny  impels,  yet  her  stern  voice 
Sinks  in  my  heart,  and  echoes  through  its  cells, — 
"  Reflect,  Medea  !     When  you  place  yourself 


28  MEDEA 


On  yonder  wave,  and  view  the  Argo's  sail 

Spread  to  the  breeze,  you  spread  life's  shivering  sails 

Before  my  breath,  which,  with  a  power  beyond 

E'en  Hope,  must  bear  thee  onward  to  the  end  ! 

Before  my  piercing  glance  the  phantom  Change 

Sinks  to  oblivion  ;  with  Destiny 

There  is  no  change  !  "  —  Yes,  these  the  awful  words 

(Re-enter  JASON.) 

That  thrill  my  frame,  and  make  rny  purpose  sick, 
But  cannot  shake  it ! 

JASON. 

Bless  thee  for  those  words  ! 
And  thou  shalt  bless  them  through  a  happy  life  ! 
But  see,  our  friends  approach  ;  we  must  be  gone  ! 

MEDEA. 

A  moment  !     O  my  country,  must  I  leave  thee,  — 
Leave  thee  for  ever  ?     Ah,  I  never  knew 
Till  now  how  strong  the  love  I  bore  to  thee  ! 
For  the  last  time  my  swelling  heart  breathes  forth 
Its  sighs  of  anguish  on  my  country's  airs  ! 
My  native  earth,  receive  thy  daughter's  knee  ! 
For  the  last  time  her  falling  tears  bedew 
Thy  much-loved  breast. 

JASON  (urging  her  away). 
Medea  ! 

MEDEA. 

Ah,  my  country  ! 
(Enter  ABSYRTUS.) 


MEDEA.  29 


ABSYRTUS. 

You  pass  not  here  ! 

MEDEA. 

My  brother  !     We  're  betrayed  ! 

JASON. 

Vain  boy,  give  way,  nor  place  thy  stripling  form 
In  opposition  to  a  warrior's  might ! 

MEDEA. 

My  brother,  Jason  ! 

ABSYRTUS. 

Stripling  as  I  am, 

The  bow  I  bear  can  send  its  messenger 
Through  manhood's  heart  !     One  step,  —  it  enters  thine  ! 

JASON. 

Dost  threaten  me  ? 

MEDEA. 

Stay,  Jason,  I  implore  ! 
Absyrtus,  why  art  thou  mine  enemy  ? 

ABSYRTUS. 

Am  I  my  sister's  enemy  because 
I  am  my  father's  friend  ? 

MEDEA. 

Though  thy  rebuke 

Hath  show  of  justice,  reason  sees  't  is  void  ; 
And  yet  it  brings  renewal  of  a  pang 
Thou  mightst  have  spared  me,  for  too  well  thou  know'st 
My  father  never  loved  me. 


30  MEDEA. 


ABSYRTUS. 

Now  so  great 
His  love  for  thee,  he  comes  to  stay  thy  flight  ! 

JASON. 

Delay  is  death  ! 

MEDEA. 

Hold  !  Brother,  by  our  love, 
Stand  back  !  Jason  for  my  sake  spares  thy  life, 
At  peril  of  his  own.  Yield,  I  beseech  thee. 

JASON. 

Withhold  me  not,  Medea  !     Nay,  fear  not 
For  him  or  me  ;  I  would  not  harm  the  boy 
For  Colchis'  crown,  and  for  his  childish  threats, 
Rate  them  as  breath. 

MEDEA. 

They  come  !     Brother,  be  wise  ! 
Yield  thou  the  path,  lest  desperation  prompt 
A  deed  whose  blackness  shall  make  Night  recoil, 
And  wrap  the  land  in  deeper  gloom  than  hers  ! 

ABSYRTUS. 

I  tell  thee,  no  !  he  shall  not  pass  alive  ! 

JASON. 

What,  boy,  thou  'It  prove  a  warrior  ;  but  thy  conquests 
Must  not  begin  with  me  ! 

(  Wrests  the  bow  from  him.) 

Ha  !  torches  moving  ! 
Stay  !  borne  by  friends  or  foes  ? 


MEDEA.  31 


ABSYRTUS   (attempting  to  stab  him  from  behind). 

This  from  thy  foe  ! 
MEDEA   (interposing,  plunges  a  knife  into  ABSYRTUS'S  breast;  he  falls). 

Remorseless  Furies  !     What  a  deed  is  this  ! 
(Sinks  into  JASON'S  arms.     Enter  LYCUS  and  IANTHE  on  one  side  ; 
on  the  oilier  the  ARGONAUTS.) 


32  MEDEA. 


ACT    III. 

Corinth.     A  lapse  of  ten  years  supposed  from  the  date  of  Act  II. 

SCENE  I.     The  vestibule  of  the  palace  O/CREON,  king  of  Corinth. 
Enter  LYCUS  and  DIRCETIS. 

LYCUS. 

GODS,  can  it  be  ?     He  woo  another  bride  ! 

DIRCETIS. 

Why  dost  thou  doubt  me  ?     Of  Medea's  wrongs 
Wouldst  thou  be  witness  ?     Thou  shalt  hear  thy  lord 
Woo  the  king's  daughter  with  persuasive  tongue. 

LYCUS. 

Jove,  dost  thou  see  this  treachery  ?     Hapless  dame  ! 

To  punish  Jason's  enemies  she  sped 

To  far  lolcos,  nor  divined  that  foes 

To  her  more  dire  remained  at  Corinth.     She 

Who  ten  long  years  shared  Jason's  wanderings 

And  soothed  his  cares  !     O  foul  dissembler  !  he 

With  fond  embraces  greeted  her  return, 

And  hailed  the  gods  with  thanks.     How  could  she  doubt 

His  constancy  !     Yet,  outcast  from  his  love, 

She  must  behold  the  claims  of  wife  and  mother 

Crushed  by  a  rival  ! 


MEDEA.  33 


DIRCET1S. 

Pity  for  her  wrongs 

Prompted  my  speech.     I,  too,  am  foreign  here, 
And  know  what  pangs  a  stranger  must  endure, 
Bereft  of  friends.     But  see  where  Jason  comes. 
Retire  ;  his  words  will  soon  attest  my  truth. 

[Exeunt. 
(Enter  JASON  and  ICARUS.) 

ICARUS. 

Is  Jason,  at  this  joyous  season,  sad  ? 
What  gratitude  from  men  may  gods  expect, 
If  he,  on  whom  their  choicest  gifts  they  shower, 
Repay  their  smiles  with  frowns  ? 

JASON. 

Knows  not  my  friend, 
The  gods  bestow  no  good  without  alloy  ? 

ICARUS. 

By  Hymen,  whom  thy  discontent  insults, 

I  blame  thy  folly  !     What  hath  Heaven  withheld  ? 

When  from  usurping  Pelias  you  fled, 

Here  did  the  gods  appoint  a  safe  retreat, 

And  Creon,  Corinth's  king,  inspired  by  them, 

Received  the  exile  with  a  father's  love. 

JASON. 

Have  I  denied  the  reverence  of  a  son, 
Or.  from  the  favoring  powers  the  sacrifice 
Due  to  their  grace  withheld  ? 
5 


34  MEDEA. 


ICARUS. 

New  favors  call 

For  present  thanks  ;  thou  who  so  late  receivedst 
The  fair  Creusa  from  her  royal  sire 
Shouldst  talk  of  no  alloy  in  happiness. 
A  king's  alliance,  and  a  royal  bride  ! 
Yet  who  that  saw  thy  brow  o'ercast  with  gloom 
Would  think  thou  wert  thus  blest  ? 

JASON. 

Cease,  cease,  my  friend  ! 
The  gods  bear  witness  that  my  gratitude 
Keeps  measure  with  their  bounty  !     Yet  my  heart 
Forebodes,  'midst  present  blessings,  future  ill. 
Though  thou  recall'st  my  promised  royal  bride, 
Divorced  Medea  drives  her  from  my  thoughts  ; 
My  fancy  paints  Creusa's  beaming  smile 
Chased  by  Medea's  frown,  and,  e'en  amid 
The  hymeneal  songs,  her  vengeful  cries 
Will  seem  to  reach  my  ears. 

ICARUS. 

Does  Jason's  heart 

Sink  'neath  such  fantasies  ?     What  canst  thou  fear 
From  her,  who  for  thy  love  resigned  each  tie 
Of  Nature's  framing  ? 

JASON. 

Nay,  thou  know'st  her  not ! 
As  she  resigned  each  native  tie  for  love, 
So  will  she  rend  each  fibre  which  that  love 


MEDEA.  35 


Has  twined  around  her  heart,  as  sacrifice 

Meet  for  the  altar  of  Revenge,  ere  fail 

To  win  the  ruthless  deity.     But  cease  ! 

She  comes  whose  ear  such  converse  must  not  meet. 

(Enter  CREUSA.) 

Welcome,  bright  queen  of  Jason's  heart  !     But  say, 
Why  is  thy  cheek  thus  pale,  and  why  do  tears 
Bedim  the  lustre  of  thine  eyes  ? 
CREUSA. 

Alas  ! 

Divin'st  thou  not  the  cause  ?     She  has  returned 
Whose  rage  I  dread,  whose  name  I  scarce  dare  speak. 

JASON. 

Why  doth  Creusa  fear  ?     Hath  Jason's  love 
No  power  to  chase  such  terrors  ?     Hath  thy  heart 
More  dread  of  her  than  confidence  in  me  ? 

CREUSA. 

Jason,  forgive  my  tears  !     They  flow  for  thee, 

My  father,  and  myself.     Nor  strength  nor  skill 

Avail  against  Medea's  arts.      She  comes, 

With  hands  imbrued  in  Pelias'  blood.     'Gainst  me 

How  will  her  jealous  wrath  now  burn  !     Alas  ! 

I  blame  her  not  ;  for  have  I  not  won  him, 

To  lose  whose  love  were  death  to  me  ?     Shouldst  thou, 

A  few  years  hence,  e'er  turn  from  me  as  now 

From  her 

JASON. 

No,  by  the  Queen  of  Heaven  ! 


36  MEDEA. 


CREUSA. 

The  oath 
Was  once  Medea's  ;  she  believed,  —  as  I  do. 

JASON. 

My  youthful  fancy  to  Medea's  charms 
Fell  captive,  for  in  her  I  loved  my  life, 
Which  she  alone  could  save  ;  a  star  of  hope 
She  rose  above  the  gloomy  cave  of  death, 
And  marked  with  friendly  beam  the  path  of  safety. 
I  saw,  obeyed,  and  triumphed  ;  but  my  heart 
No  ruler  knew,  until  Creusa's  glance 
Subdued  its  freedom. 

CREUSA. 

What  revenge  will  seem 
Too  dire  for  this  desertion  ?     What  revenge 
On  me,  my  father,  thee,  perchance,  — but  no  ! 
Thee  she  could  never  harm  !    Hath  she  one  spark 
Of  woman's  nature  'neath  a  woman's  breast, 
Although  her  wrath  could  devastate  the  world, 
Above  the  ponderous  ruin  Jason  still 
Would  stand  in  safety.     If  she  ever  loved, 
She  could  not  hate  thee. 

JASON. 

Let  thy  idle  fears 
For  me  and  for  thyself  fade  with  that  thought. 

CREUSA. 

Icarus,  dost  thou  call  my  terrors  idle  ? 


MEDEA.  37 


ICARUS. 

Ay,  lady  ;  think'st  thou  that  a  woman's  arm 
Can  reach  this  palace,  penetrate  the  shield 
A  father's  and  a  lover's  care  presents, 
To  plant  the  avenging  knife  within  thy  heart  ? 

CREUSA. 

You  smile  :  't  is  true  ;  I  fear  I  know  not  what. 
Adieu  ;  I  '11  teach  myself  to  think  with  ye. 

JASON. 
The  gods  protect  thee,  gentle  one  ! 

CREUSA. 

And  thee  !  [Exit. 

JASON. 

A.  harder  task  remains,  —  Medea's  wrath 

To  rouse,  and  to  restrain  ;  — if  that  the  last 

Lie  in  the  compass  of  a  mortal's  skill ; 

If  not,  why,  let  her  rage  !     Creusa's  charms, 

The  king's  alliance,  all  combine  to  urge 

My  purposed  nuptials.     Creusa's  love 

Hath  chased  the  gloom  that  gathered  round  my  heart. 

The  future  to  the  gods  !  be  mine  the  present  ! 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

An  apartment  in  the  palace  of  JASON.     MEDEA  and  IAN  THE. 

IANTHE. 

PRINCESS,  to-day  ten  circling  years  have  fled 
Since  we  left  Colchis. 


38  MEDEA. 


MEDEA. 

Think'st  thou  I  forget, 
Because  my  tongue  no  telltale  echo  gives 
Of  my  heart's  converse  ? 

IANTHE. 

I  but  thought  how  great 
The  changes  Time  hath  made  in  ten  years'  flight. 

MEDEA. 

Ten  vanished  years  !  —  each  year  replete  with  bliss  ! 

And  Jason  still  is  fond  and  faithful,  still 

Gazes  upon  me  with  a  lover's  eye, 

Raves  of  my  beauty  with  a  lover's  tongue  ; 

Still  is  as  grateful  for  his  wife's  devotion, 

As  when  from  earthly  foes  and  magic  snares 

Her  power  first  rescued  him.     What  hath  that  wife 

To  ask  of  earth  or  heaven,  beyond  the  gift 

Of  such  a  husband,  loving  and  beloved  ? 

IANTHE. 

And  dost  thou  spare,  amid  this  happiness, 
No  recollection  to  thy  native  land  ? 

MEDEA. 

Ah,  many  a  tender  thought  flies  back  to  thee, 

My  childhood's  home,  much  loved,  though  rude  !     Ten 

years  ! 

Why,  I  was  but  a  child  then,  —  Nature's  child,  — 
With  no  delight  beyond  that  mother's  face, 
Making  her  mysteries  familiar  things. 
I  thought  I  had  scanned  all ;  but  Jason  came, 


MEDEA.  39 


And  his  eye  was  my  tutor  in  a  page 
Which  till  that  hour  I  had  passed  idly  by. 

IANTHE. 

How  thou  hast  proved  the  beauty  of  that  page, 
A  wondering  world  bears  witness.     Constancy, 
Wisdom,  devotion,  all  have  but  one  aim, 
Unfaltering  tributaries  to  thy  love  ! 

MEDEA. 

Love  is  my  life  !  and  should  I  not  give  all 
The  treasures  which  the  gods  have  granted  me, 
To  feed  its  sacred  and  mysterious  flame  ? 

IANTHE. 

E'en  if  the  flame  should  mount,  with  tyrant  power, 
And,  'mid  her  rites,  consume  the  priestess  ? 

MEDEA. 

Ay, 

To  keep  the  flame  undying  I  would  yield 
My  life  rather  than  live  to  see  it  wane, 
Expire,  and  leave  my  heart  to  dark  despair  ! 
Gods,  e'er  I  know  the  agony  to  live 
Unloved  of  him  who  sways  my  every  thought, 
O,  snatch  my  life,  and  I  will  bless  the  stroke  ! 

IANTHE. 

Did  I  not  know  thy  soul,  I  should  exclaim, 
A  wife  of  yesterday  might  dream  such  dreams  ! 

MEDEA. 

A  wife  of  yesterday  !  —  Hath  Love  with  Time 
Such  close  alliance,  that  old  age  to  both 


40  MEDEA. 


Comes  with  the  same  alloy  of  clouds,  and  cares, 
And  chill  indifference  to  mortal  joys  ? 
Ah,  no  !    Time  is  but  for  the  form  we  wear  ; 
Love  is  the  soul,  which  hath  no  bonds  with  Time. 
For  ever  young,  with  wing  untamed,  he  soars 
On  to  the  future,  sorrow,  care,  and  death 
Made  radiant  by  his  smile. 

IANTHE. 

Such  love  as  this 
E'en  Love  himself  knows  not  ! 

MEDEA. 

So  Jason  read  it  in  Medea's  heart, 
And  feel  it  in  his  own,  I  care  not,  though 
The  god  to  Lethe's  waves  consign  his  shafts, 
And  leave  the  world  to  friendship's  calmer  reign. 
(Enter  JASON.) 

JASON. 
What,  doth  Medea  ask  for  Friendship's  reign  ? 

MEDEA. 

Not  while  Love's  flame  survives  in  Jason's  breast. 

JASON. 
If  that  expire  ? 

MEDEA. 

Expire  !     The  gods  forbid  ! 

JASON. 

Nay,  start  not  at  a  jest  ! 

MEDEA. 

Will  my  lord  jest 


MEDEA.  41 


On  such  a  theme  ?     As  well  mightst  thou  lay  bare 
This  heart,  thine  altar,  tear  it  from  its  place, 
And  cast  it  quivering  from  thy  grasp  to  earth, 
As  jest  thus  of  a  tie  to  me  so  dear, 
So  sacred,  that  to  sever  it  would  be 
To  loose  each  human  feeling  from  my  breast, 
To  make  me  desperate,  outcast  from  my  kind, 
Hating  myself,  the  world,  and  thee  ! 

JASON. 

Even  so  !          [Aside. 

Thou  paint'st  a  Fury's,  not  a  woman's,  love  ! 
But  let  not  fancy  torture  thee  ;  the  world 
Hath  real  ills  enough. 

MEDEA. 

But  not  for  me  ! 

I  dread,  —  I  know  no  ill  when  thou  art  by. 
Exile  and  want,  disgrace,  the  hate  of  men, 
And  wrath  of  gods,  I  could  endure,  nor  waste 
A  care  on  them,  so  Jason  lived  and  loved  ! 

JASON. 

The  fiend  Remorse  is  busy  at  my  heart. 

Can  I  again  inspire  such  love,  or  lives 

A  woman,  save  Medea,  in  whose  soul 

A  passion  ardent,  pure,  as  this  can  burn  ?  [Aside. 

MEDEA. 

My  lord,  why  on  this  day  is  thy  brow  sad  ? 

JASON. 

Men  oft  have  cares  which  women  need  not  share. 
6 


42  MEDEA. 


MEDEA. 

Hath  Jason  cares  Medea  cannot  share  ? 

Ah  !   strange  and  heavy  should  that  sorrow  be 

Which  clouds  thy  heart  from  mine. 

Why  speak'st  thou  not  ?  Since  first  our  fates  were  joined, 

Ne'er  hast  thou  known  a  care  or  braved  a  toil 

Which  by  my  love  has  not  been  lighter  made, 

Or  vanquished  by  my  skill. 

JASON. 

Medea,  list  ! 

Not  grateful  is  it  to  a  warrior's  ear, 
That  even  a  wife  should  boast  her  benefits  : 
Remembrance  is  his  part,  and  silence  hers. 

MEDEA. 

Thou  know'st  that  mine  is  not  the  ignoble  soul 
Which  prompts  a  boaster's  tongue.     I  boast  of  naught 
Save  of  thy  love,  which  made  me  what  I  am, 
Thy  equal  partner,  not  thy  household  slave,  — 
As  Grecian  dames  to  Grecian  lords  must  be,  — 
But  worthy  deemed  by  thee  to  aid  thy  councils, 
To  share  thy  wanderings,  and  assuage  thy  woes. 
I  boast  my  husband  when  I  talk  of  these. 
Tell  me,  what  care  oppresses  thee  ? 

JASON. 

Not  long 
Wilt  thou  remain  in  ignorance. 

MEDEA. 

I  felt 


MEDEA.  43 


Thou  couldst  not  long  exclude  me  from  thy  heart. 
Why  does  the  darkness  deepen  on  thy  brow  ? 
Thou  'rt  ill  !     Thou  canst  not  hide  it  from  thy  wife,  — 
From  her,  who,  taught  by  love,  reads  in  thy  glance 
Each  shade  of  joy  and  pain.     Surely  thou  'rt  ill  ! 

JASON. 

Not  ill,  Medea,  not  oppressed  with  cares 
Beyond  my  own  poor  skill  to  overcome. 
Content  thee,  thou  mistak'st. 

MEDEA. 

I  am  content, 

If  for  Medea's  sake  thou  'It  clear  thy  brow, 
And  greet  this  day  with  smiles. 

JASON. 

And  why  this  day  ? 

MEDEA. 

Is  Jason's  heart  so  changed,  that  he  forgets 
The  day  which  once  he  hailed  with  fondest  joy  ? 
If  thou  forgett'st,  ah  !  why  should  I  remember 
That  on  this  day  I  fled  my  native  shores,  — 
My  father's  court,  where  I  was  as  a  queen,  — 
Left  all  for  Love,  and  in  his  smile  found  all  ? 

JASON. 

True  ;  and  e'en  then  thou  didst  not  look  more  fair, 
Nor  fell  thy  words  more  sweetly  on  my  ear, 
Than  now,  when  lip  and  eye  speak  soft  reproach  ! 

MEDEA. 

O,  not  reproach  !     Thee  I  could  ne'er  reproach  ! 


44  MEDEA. 


JASON. 

Mayst  thou  think  ever  thus  !  —  I  have  essayed 
A  task  beyond  my  power  ;  to  others'  lips 
I  must  commit  it.     (Aside.)     Fare  thee  well  awhile. 
The  king  requires  my  presence  at  the  palace. 

MEDEA. 

Wilt  thou  not  give  this  day  to  me  ? 

JASON. 

The  king 

Is  our  protector,  friend  ;  would  it  be  well 
To  let  his  wishes  pass  unheeded  ? 

MEDEA. 

Go; 

I  would  not  counsel  thee  ingratitude. 
But  thou  wilt  see  our  sons  ? 
JASON. 

It  matters  not  ; 

I  shall  return  ere  long.  [Exit. 

MEDEA. 

Methinks  I  hear 
Their  voices.     Go,  lanthe,  bid  them  wait. 

[Exit  IANTHE. 

"  It  matters  not !  "     Why  do  those  careless  words 
Sink  in  my  heart  like  the  stern  voice  of  some 
Ill-boding  oracle  ?     "It  matters  not  !  " 
Ah,  could  I  think  his  heart  dictated  them  ! 

[Exit. 


MEDEA.  45 


ACT    IV. 

SCENE  I.     The  palace  of  JASON.     MEDEA  and  IANTHE. 

MEDEA. 

MY  husband  loves  another,  and  I  hear  it, 
Yet  cannot  die,  and  cheat  the  avenging  fiends 
Who  hurl  this  venomed  serpent  at  my  breast  ! 

IANTHE. 

Nay,  princess,  yield  thee  not  to  such  despair  ; 
Reject  not  hope  so  rashly. 

MEDEA. 

Cease,  Ian  the  ! 

Talk  not  of  hope  to  me  !  talk  of  despair, 
Of  madness,  hate,  revenge,  of  every  fiend 
The  envious  gods  let  loose  upon  mankind  ! 

IANTHE. 

Dear  lady,  call  to  mind  past  happiness. 

MEDEA. 

I  have  no  memory  save  for  misery. 
Rememberest  thou  that  night  of  bliss,  —  of  woe,  — 
When  from  my  native  shores  our  vessel  sped  ? 
Gods  !  had  mine  been  like  other  mortal  hearts, 
That  night  had  seen  its  last  convulsive  throb  ! 


46  MEDEA. 


Still  doth  imagination  picture  him, 
My  much-loved  brother,  writhing  at  my  feet. 
Ah  !  why  did  Fate  assign  my  hand  a  task 
Which  nature,  reason,  and  my  sex  forbade  ? 
Ten  years  !     It  cannot  be  !  —  't  was  yesterday  ! 
If  it  were  not,  would  he  lie  bleeding  there, 
A  sister's  weapon  in  the  ghastly  wound  ? 

IANTHE. 

Dear  lady,  shake  these  horrid  fancies  off. 

MEDEA. 

Release  me,  let  me  seize  the  telltale  steel ! 
My  father  must  not  know  Medea's  hand 
Thus,  with  a  Fury's  grasp,  hath  dashed  to  earth 
His  fondest  hopes  !  —  Ah  !  whither  has  it  fled  ? 
lanthe,  didst  thou  not  behold 

IANTHE. 

Nothing, 
Dear  lady,  nothing  ! 

MEDEA. 

Was  it  madness,  then  ? 
Jove,  leave  me  reason,  though  it  only  serve 
T'  enhance  the  ills  you  shower  on  me  !     'T  is  past  ! 

IANTHE. 
Thank  Heaven  !     O  princess,  calm  this  frenzied  grief  ! 

MEDEA. 

Thou  talk'st  to  me  of  calmness  !     Hadst  thou  known 
The  wrongs  that  I  sustain,  —  hadst  thou  e'er  laid 
Home,  country,  friends,  thought,  feeling,  kindred  blood, 


MEDEA.  47 


Upon  Love's  altar  with  unfaltering  hand, 
And  seen  the  gifts  received  but  to  be  spurned, 
Nor  with  thy  clamor  roused  earth,  heaven,  and  hell, 
Then  mightst  thou  argue  thus,  and  I  would  hear  ; 
But  now  I  could  go  mad,  and  rend  the  air 
With  maniac  shrieks,  and  call  aloud  on  Death 
To  end  this  woe,  for  Jason  was  my  life. 

IANTHE. 

Calm  thee,  till  he  appear  ;  trust  not  the  tale 

From  any  lips  save  his.     Thy  agony, 

The  love  which  prompts  it,  and  thy  matchless  charms, 

Will  chase  this  passing  folly  ;  he  will  be 

Again  thine  own. 

MEDEA. 

Never  !  by  Juno's  self  ! 

The  temple  which  Love  reared  within  my  heart 
Was  based  on  honor  ;  Jason  has  destroyed 
The  glorious  pedestal ;  prone  to  the  earth 
The  baseless  fabric,  with  its  inmate,  falls, 
Nor  leaves  a  vestige  by  which  man  can  say, 
Here  dwelt  the  heart's  great  tyrant.     With  the  fall 
Earth  shall  resound,  all  hell  start  back  aghast ; 
For  crushed  and  writhing  'neath  the  ponderous  mass 
My  foes  shall  lie. 

IANTHE. 

Cease,  dearest  lady,  cease 

These  vengeful  threats  !     Ere  this,  to  Creon's  ear 
Some  busy  foe  hath  borne  thy  frenzied  cries. 


48  MEDEA. 


Rouse  not  his  fears,  lest  with  tyrannic  hand 
He  crush  thy  sons,  thyself. 

MEDEA. 

Let  him  essay  ! 

IANTHE. 

Nay,  if  not  prudence,  let  thy  pride  restrain  thee. 
Grant  not  the  triumph  to  thy  foes  to  see 
Medea,  empress  of  her  sex,  o'erwhelmed 
Beneath  their  treachery. 

MEDEA. 

Through  all  things  else 

I  have  been  more  than  woman  !     Can  I  now, 
In  outraged  nature's  agony,  be  less  ? 
The  partial  gods  assign  no  blest  abode 
On  Lethe's  banks  for  woman  ;  yet  she  finds 
In  Love's  protecting  arms  Elysium, 
Nor  asks  a  bliss  beyond  ;  but  cast  from  thence, 
Say,  whither  shall  she  fly  ?     Despair  in  front, 
On  each  side  hatred  and  revenge  !  above, 
Dire  madness  hovers,  and  his  hissing  snakes 
Cling  to  her  brain,  and  goad  her  on  to  frenzy  ! 

IANTHE. 

Cease,  lady  ;  steps  approach  !  —  It  is  the  king  ! 
Frowns  clothe  his  brow 

MEDEA. 

The  king  !     What  would  he  here  ? 
(•Enter  CREON.) 
Why  do  pride,  pomp,  and  power  approach  the  abode 


MEDEA.  49 


Of  desolation  ?     Say,  what  would  the  king 
Of  one  so  humble  ? 

CREON. 

Doth  Medea  own 

League  with  humility  ?     Thy  scorn-wreathed  lip, 
Thine  eye  gleaming  with  hate,  too  well  betray 
The  soul  within,  e'en  had  thy  words  been  slow 
To  show  thy  treachery. 

MEDEA. 

Treachery,  Creon  ! 
CREON. 

Ay. 

Thy  vengeful  ravings,  by  a  faithful  tongue 
Borne  to  my  ear,  are  treachery  to  me, 
Whose  walls  received,  whose  power  protected,  thee, 
When  suppliant  thou  sought'st  what  I  bestowed, 
A  kingly  hospitality. 

MEDEA. 

Jove,  shall  I  hear 

In  silence  taunts  like  these  ?     Do  monarchs  stoop 
To  barter  hospitality  ?     If  so, 
May  Heaven  bear  witness  at  how  dear  a  rate 
Thy  kingly  aid  is  prized  !     Henceforth  sink  pride, 
And  perish  generosity  !     Let  shame 
And  maiden  modesty  no  more  abide 
In  Corinth's  walls,  since  Corinth's  monarch  holds 
No  memory  of  the  first,  and  for  the  last,  — 
7 


50  MEDEA. 


Let  bards  relate  how  Corinth's  princess  wooed 
And  won  Medea's  lord  ! 

CREON. 

Rail,  haughty  dame, 

But  bear  thy  clamors  far  from  Corinth  ;  go, 
Seek  with  thy  sons  a  new  abode.     Hear'st  thou  ? 
Thou  art  an  exile. 

MEDEA. 

Creon  ! 

CREON. 

It  is  fixed. 

MEDEA. 

Lost  !  lost  !     (Aside.)    Monarch,  once  more  thy  suppliant 
Behold  me  !     How  have  I  deserved  this  doom  ? 
What  is  my  crime  ? 

CREON. 

Thy  threats  of  vengeance  'gainst 
My  daughter  and  myself.     Thy  former  acts 
Attest  thee  bold  and  resolute  ;  both  swift 
To  plan,  and  prompt  to  execute,  the  deeds 
Thy  rage  inspired.     There  is  no  change 
In  thy  proud  spirit  ;  thou  hast  sworn  to  wreak 
Ruin  on  me  and  on  my  house.     Fly  hence  ! 
Thy  life  is  in  my  power  ;  I  but  command 
Thy  absence. 

MEDEA. 

Doth  the  king  of  Corinth  fear 
A  woman  ?     Compassed  by  rank,  power,  and  wealth, 


MEDEA.  51 


Had  I  the  will,  where  should  I  find  the  means 
To  pass  those  mighty  barriers  ?     With  no  friends 
To  raise  the  cry  of  vengeance  for  my  sake, 
No  warriors  at  my  call,  nor  wealth  have  I 
To  purchase  them,  how  could  I  injure  thee  ? 
My  sole  reliance  this  weak  woman's  hand,  — 
This  hand,  which,  fatal  only  to  myself, 
Each  native  tie  hath  severed  !     Alien 
From  my  own  land,  and  exiled  now  from  thine, 
Alone  I  stand.     Fear  not,  but  pity  me  ! 
Poor,  friendless,  broken-hearted,  desolate  ! 

CREON. 

Lady,  the  strength  which  lies  in  manhood's  arm 
Hath  never  caused  me  fear  ;  how  then  should  thine  ? 
Thy  dangerous  wisdom,  superhuman  arts, 
I  dread,  and  will  avoid. 

MEDEA. 

Unhappy  me  ! 

Let  not  my  frantic  ravings  steel  thy  heart 
Against  my  woes  !     Have  I  not  cause  for  frenzy  ? 
If  in  my  agony  my  tongue  o'erleaped 
The  bounds  of  wisdom,  canst  thou  not  forgive 
A  maniac's  unmeaning  rashness  ? 
CREON. 

Rise, 

Nor  hope  to  shake  me  ;  it  is  wisdom's  part 
To  strangle  danger  in  its  birth,  nor,  led 
By  ill-placed  confidence  or  timeless  pity, 


52  MEDEA. 


Delay  until  it  rise  in  giant  strength, 

Defy  our  grasp,  and  hurl  us  to  destruction. 

MEDEA. 

As  thou  hast  said,  I  am  within  thy  power  ; 

But  yet,  my  lord,  reflect  how  it  may  stand 

With  thine  own  honor  to  deprive  me  thus, 

In  wanton  cruelty,  of  the  sole  good 

Fate  leaves  me,  — shelter  for  myself  and  sons. 

I  cannot  need  it  long  ;  grant  but  a  day, 

One  day,  to  think  which  way  my  steps  should  turn  ! 

CREON. 
Ask  not  an  hour  ;  I  will  not  give  it  thee. 

MEDEA. 

I  do  not  ask  thy  pity  for  myself ; 

I  need  it  not.     What  matters  it  to  me, 

That  the  gods  pour  the  tempests  of  the  air 

Upon  my  head  ?     Commotion  wilder  far 

Must  ever  rage  within.     Think  not  I  care 

Or  when  or  where  I  drain  the  cup  of  life 

So  early  poisoned  ;  better  at  once  to  do  't, 

Than  drag  a  miserable  chain  of  years 

In  hopeless  agonies  !     But  for  my  sons, 

Have  pity  on  them,  they  are  fatherless  ! 

Turn  not  away,  for  thou  hast  children  ;  thou 

Hast  seen  thy  babes  cling  to  a  mother's  breast  ; 

Hast  seen  that  mother's  eyes  bedewed  with  tears, 

Born  from  excess  of  rapture  !     Paint  to  thyself 

That  mother  and  those  sons  by  strangers'  hands 


MEDEA.  53 


Torn  rudely  from  their  home  ;  exposed,  alas  ! 

To  the  cold  gaze  of  an  unfeeling  world  ; 

To  woe  and  want,  perchance  to  death  ;  —  then  steel 

Thy  heart  against  a  mother's  cries  !     Thou  canst  not  ! 

Creon,  by  all  the  gods,  grant  me  this  day  ! 

CREON. 

Thou  hast  prevailed  !     Receive  thy  boon  ;  "  but  mark, 
That  if  to-morrow's  dawn  behold  thee  here 
Thy  sons,  with  thee,  shall  die  !  "  *     It  is  decreed. 

MEDEA. 
Dread  monarch,  thanks  ! 

(Exit  CREON.) 

"  Rouse  thee,  Medea  !    wake 
Thy  deepest  science  !  meditate,  devise  ! 
Call  forth  thy  terrible  power  !     The  contest  now 
Demands  a  daring  spirit !  "     In  the  hour 
Of  their  insulting  triumph,  let  thy  foes 
Learn  to  distinguish  'twixt  a  dame  of  Greece, 
Submissive  to  her  tyrant  lord's  decrees, 
And  her  from  Phoebus  sprung,  the  tameless  Colchian, 
Whose  hand  shall  "  vindicate  her  glorious  birth  "  ! 

[Exit. 

The  lines  within  quotation  marks  are  from  the  Medea  of  Euripides. 


54  MEDEA. 


SCENE  II. 

CREON'S  palace.     Enter  JASON  and  CREUSA. 

JASON. 

No  more  alarms,  my  fair  ;  thy  prudent  sire, 
To  rid  thy  breast  of  every  fear,  hath  doomed 
Her  whom  thou  dread'st  to  exile  ;  she  will  turn 
Her  steps  from  Corinth's  walls,  nor  evermore 
With  jealous  ravings  mar  thy  peace. 

CREUSA. 

And  thou  ?  — 

Will  no  regrets Nay,  frown  not  !     Canst  thou  think 

I  doubt  thy  love  ?     I  could  not,  though  the  world 
Proclaimed  thee  suitor  for  my  father's  power, 
And  not  his  daughter's  heart. 

JASON. 

And  who  has  dared 

CREUSA. 

Nay,  nay  !  't  was  but  a  slave,  a  spoiled  attendant, 
Whose  love  for  me  prompted  her  jealous  fears. 
The  king  approaches. 

(Enter  CREON.) 

Father,  dost  thou  bring 

Assurance  of  my  peace  and  safety  ?     Ah  !  — 
You  pause  !    My  father,  say  not  't  is  delayed  ! 

CREON. 
But  for  a  day. 


MEDEA.  55 


CREUSA. 

Thy  daughter's  happiness 
May  hang  upon  that  day. 

CREON. 

Thou  tak'st  it  gravely  ; 
But  let  it  not  be  said  the  daughter's  heart 
Was  sterner  than  her  sire's.     Medea's  tears, 
Her  supplications,  swayed  my  too  harsh  purpose. 
She  prayed  but  for  a  day,  a  single  day, 
To  frame  some  plan  ;  not  for  herself,  but  for 
Her  tender  sons,  with  moving  words,  and  looks 
More  moving,  she  besought  my  pity  ;  prayed 
I  would  not,  through  my  fears  of  her,  cast  them, 
Thus  unprovided,  on  a  heartless  world. 

JASON. 

My  children !  No  !  no  power  shall  rend  them  from  me.  [Aside. 
What  more,  my  lord  ? 

CREON. 

In  very  shame  I  yielded  ; 

But  warned  the  dame,  that  on  the  morrow's  dawn 
She,  with  her  sons,  must  leave  this  land  or  die. 

JASON. 

Creon,  they  are  my  sons  !     They  shall  not  go  ! 

Let  me  behold  in  Corinth  one  so  bold 

As  harm  those  innocents  !     Am  I  not  he 

Who  braved  fierce  ^Etes  and  his  savage  horde 

In  search  of  fame  ?     Shall  I  not  brave  much  more 

For  them  ?     Here  they  remain  ! 


56  MEDEA. 


CREON. 

It  cannot  be  ! 
Jason,  dispute  it  not ;  the  king  commands. 

JASON. 

No  king's  command  shall  make  them  fatherless  ! 

CREON. 

That  thine  own  act  hath  done  ;  and  that  thy  sons 
Should  now  remain  in  Corinth,  —  that  within 
My  house  they  should  be  trained,  who,  grown  to  manhood, 
Must  prove  its  direst  foes,  —  would  show  me  mad 
Beyond  conception. 

JASON. 

Will  they  not  be  trained 
By  me,  thy  grateful  friend,  —  thy  son  ? 
CREON. 

Ere  this 

They  know  their  mother's  rage  and  hate  ;  its  cause. 
Shouldst  thou  retain  them  here,  they  first  receive 
Her  lessons  of  revenge,  —  bear  them  in  mind, 
Despite  all  other  teaching,  till  the  hour 
Occasion  marks  for  vengeance  bids  them  rise 
In  hot  rebellion  for  Medea's  sake,  — 
Foment  foul  discord  in  my  realm  ;  perchance 
In  ruin  whelm  my  house  ! 

JASON. 

Yet  they  are  mine. 
CREON. 
But  wouldst  thou  rend  them  from  their  mother's  arms  ? 


MEDEA.  57 


If  she  must  fly,  make  her  not  desolate 
Of  all  life's  blessings.     Leave  her  sons  ;  their  smiles 
Will  calm  her  rage,  their  innocent  caresses 
Soften  her  harsh  resolves  ;  to  her  heart's  fever 
They  best  can  minister. 

JASON. 

Spoke  she  of  me  ? 

CREON. 
No. 

JASON. 

Didst  thou  deem  her  grief  or  rage  most  strong  ? 

CREON. 

Sunk  in  despair  she  seemed,  her  every  thought 
Centred  upon  her  sons,  condemned,  perchance, 
To  bitter  want. 

JASON. 

That  fear  no  more  must  rack  her. 

CREUSA. 

No  ;  let  the  treasures  of  the  royal  house 
Be  showered  upon  Medea.     Wealth  will  purchase 
Home,  country,  friends.     O,  may  she  find  them  all 
Far,  far  from  Corinth  !     Whither  goes  my  lord  ? 

JASON. 

My  sons  demand  my  care. 

CREUSA. 

Trust  not  thyself 

In  that  fell  woman's  power  !     A  messenger 
Can  do  thy  will.     Can  she  not  murder  thee  ? 
8 


58  MEDEA. 


JASON. 

Nay,  nay,  Creusa,  check  this  folly. 

CREUSA. 

No! 

Thou  must  not  go  !     I  cannot  suffer  it ! 
Thy  wife,  thy  bride,  implores  ! 

JASON. 

My  children's  wants 

With  stronger  voice  command  me.     Nay,  weep  not. 
Should  I  to  menial  hands  intrust  such  charge, 
Medea  would  repel  my  offered  aid 
As  insult.     Fare  thee  well.     Surely  no  ill 
Can  reach  thee  in  my  absence  ;  and  for  me, 
Trust  thou  my  safety  to  Medea's  love.  [Exit. 

CREUSA. 

A  mournful  bride  am  I,  who  see  my  lord 
By  such  contending  interests  swayed.     Alas, 
My  father  !   by  thy  mercy  shown  to  her 
Thy  daughter's  heart  is  rent. 

CREON. 

Think  not  of  it. 
'T  is  but  a  day.     How  quickly  will  it  pass  ! 

[Exeunt. 


MEDEA.  59 


SCENE  III. 

In  the  palace  of  JASON.     Enter  LYCUS  and  IANTHE,  meeting. 

LYCUS. 

How  fares  the  princess,  dear  Ian  the  ?     Say, 
Is  she  now  calm  ? 

IANTHE. 

No  ;  bathed  in  tears,  she  yields 
To  grief  more  harrowing  than  her  wildest  rage. 

LYCUS. 

Alas  !  who  shall  console  her  ?  who  withdraw 
The  poisoned  arrow  from  her  heart,  and  heal 
The  rankling  wound  ?     Not  Esculapius'  self ! 
But  lo  !  my  lord  approaches. 
IANTHE. 

Ha  !  what  seeks 

The  traitor  here  ?     Why,  shameless,  doth  he  come 
T'  inflict  new  torture,  by  his  hateful  presence, 
Upon  his  writhing  victim  ? 

LYCUS. 

Peace  !     She  comes  ! 
(Enter  MEDEA.) 

IANTHE. 
Dear  lady  ! 

LYCUS. 
Gracious  princess  ! 


60  MEDEA. 


MEDEA. 

Faithful  friends, 

Your  presence  'mid  this  scene  of  desolation 
Brings  back  the  phantom  Hope,  who  else  had  fled 
This  desecrated  fane,  my  heart.     I  gaze 
On  ye,  and  feel  I  am  not  yet  alone. 

LYCUS. 

No,  lady,  we  are  still  what  we  have  been, 
Thy  friends,  thy  servants,  slaves,  —  what  thou  wouldst 

have  us,  — 
To  live  or  die  for  thee. 

MEDEA. 

My  thanks,  good  Lycus, 
All  I  can  offer,  thy  fidelity 
Commands.     A  step  familiar  to  my  ear 
Approaches  ;  't  is  my  lord's  !     What  said  I  ?     His 
Who  was  my  lord.     O  for  a  moment's  respite  ! 

(Motions  LYCUS  and  IANTHE,  who  withdraw.    Enter  JASON.) 
My  husband  !     (He  turns  from  her.)    It  is  past,  and  I  am 

marble  !     (Aside.) 

Com'st  thou,  a  foe  to  Creon's  lenity, 
To  haste  my  flight  from  Corinth,  with  my  sons  ? 

JASON. 

Unjust  !     Not  I,  but  thine  unbridled  passion 
Hath  caused  thy  exile.     Thou,  forsooth,  must  rave 
Of  vengeance  'gainst  the  monarch  whose  strong  arm 

So  long  hath  shielded  thee  ;  ingratitude 
Can  claim  no  pity.     But  for  this,  my  voice 


MEDEA.  61 


Had  been  attended,  and  thou  still  hadst  found 
A  home  in  Corinth.     Thy  intemperate  wrath 
Has  raised  suspicion  'gainst  thee.     Thou  must  fly  ; 
Nor  thou  alone  ;  but,  for  their  mother's  folly, 
My  sons  must  suffer.     They  must  range  with  thee, 
Homeless  and  friendless. 

MEDEA. 

It  is  well  !     Rail  on  ! 

Declare  the  wrongs  I  've  done  thee  !     Name  each  fault 
For  which  I  owe  atonement !     I,  in  meekness, 
As  doth  become  a  Grecian  wife,  will  listen. 

JASON. 

This  only  will  I  say  ;  had  thy  rash  tongue 
Yielded  to  reason's  dictates,  still  my  sons 
Had  known  a  father's  care,  still  hadst  thou  dwelt 
In  peace  and  safety. 

MEDEA. 

No  !     Think'st  thou  my  soul 
Is  humbled  by  thy  insults  to  endure 
That  the  same  land  should  hold  thy  new-chosen  bride 
And  me,  the  outcast  from  thy  love  ?     O,  never  ! 
Far  rather  would  I  dwell  in  endless  night, 
The  earth  my  couch,  the  heavens  my  canopy, 
The  thunder-peal  my  music,  the  red  flash 
Of  angry  Jove  my  torch,  and  savage  beasts 
My  sole  companions  ! 

JASON. 

Yet  I  would  not  wish 


62  MEDEA. 


With  thy  barbaric  tastes  my  sons  infected. 
Here  should  they  still  have  dwelt,  here  .grown  to  man 
hood, 

Sharing  through  my  alliance  with  the  king 
Each  good  that  royalty  bestows.     By  thee 
They  suffer  ;  thy  insensate  ravings  roused 
Wrath  and  suspicion  in  the  king  :  —  "  The  sons 

Of  such  a  mother  must  prove  dangerous  " 

MEDEA  (interrupting). 
The  king  is  wise  !   most  wise  ! 

JASON. 

"  We  do  not  spare, 

In  pity  for  their  youth,  the  tigress'  whelps." 
Such  answer  made  he  to  my  prayer. 

MEDEA. 

Thy  prayer  ! 

Fervently  urged,  no  doubt !     Nor  would  I  wish 
My  sons  by  thy  ingratitude  infected  ; 
Their  tender  hearts,  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth, 
Poisoned  by  contact  with  thy  perjured  self. 
Better  to  dwell  in  poverty,  with  slaves 
Share  toil  and  want,  nor  dream  of  higher  birthright, 
Than  to  be  trained  the  sycophants  of  courts, 
'Neath  the  cold  shadow  of  a  step-dame's  frown  ! 

JASON. 

Nay,  didst  thou  seek  their  good,  not  yielding  thus 
To  blinding  rage  and  jealousy,  thy  wish 
Would  be  that  Creon  yet  might  grant  their  stay. 


MEDEA.  63 


MEDEA. 

With  me  they  go  !     But  whither  ?     "  Ah,  my  country  ! 

Now  I  remember  thee," —  now  toward  thee 

Despairing  cast  my  eyes  ;  for  dare  I  hope 

A  shelter  in  thy  breast  ?     My  father,  too  ! 

No  smile  of  love  on  his  stern  lip  would  speak 

A  welcome  to  his  child  !  —  False  Greek  !  for  thee 

Have  I  betrayed  my  sire  !  —  for  thee  I  bathed 

My  hands  in  kindred  blood  !  —  for  thee  I  roam 

An  outcast  from  the  land  where  wealth  and  power 

Were  slaves  to  me,  —  where  I  was  as  a  queen  ! 

For  thee  I  stooped  from  my  high  sphere,  for  thee 

Inured  my  woman's  frame,  my  woman's  heart, 

To  toil  and  dangers  !     How  am  I  requited  ? 

On  my  defenceless  head  are  showered  neglect, 

Falsehood,  disgrace,  and  insult  ! 

JASON. 

Who  can  stem 

The  torrent  of  a  woman's  tongue  ?     Hadst  thou 
The  common  reason  of  thy  sex,  thou  hadst  weighed 
With  a  more  equal  mind  the  good  and  evil, 
Which,  as  to  all  mankind,  the  Fates  dispense 
To  thee.     I  found  thee  in  a  savage  land, 
Where  men,  more  savage  than  their  native  wilds, 
Paid  thee  the  blind  obedience  of  fear  ; 
Where  a  barbarian  king,  thy  sire  and  tyrant, 
Ruled,  as  the  lion  rules  his  fellow-beasts. 
From  that  barbaric  race,  that  land  remote, 


64  MEDEA. 


To  Greece,  the  chosen  seat  of  gods,  I  bore  thee  ; 
In  that  wild  region  hadst  thou  languished  else, 
Obscure.     Fame  never  stooped  her  pinion  there  ; 
But  here  thy  name,  thy  wisdom,  mighty  deeds, 
Wide  o'er  the  land  resound  ;  sages  commend, 
And  warriors  hear  with  wonder.     Thus,  by  me, 
Renown,  far  dearer  to  thy  heart  than  love, 
Has  crowned  thy  wish 

MEDEA. 

Ungrateful  as  thou  art, 

And  shameless  !     Fame,  renown  !  — talk'st  thou  of  these 
To  me,  who,  for  thy  sake  have  sacrificed, 
Save  life  and  reason,  all  ?     I  thank  the  gods, 
They  leave  me  these  for  vengeance  ! 

JASON. 

This  it  is 

Brings  exile,  with  its  evil,  on  thyself 
And  sons.     Yet  poverty,  midst  other  griefs, 
They  must  not  know.      Lady,  at  thy  command 
Are  all  my  treasures  ;  freely  take  such  store 
As  may  seem  needful. 

MEDEA. 

Deem'st  thou  me  so  fallen 
A  s  to  receive  thy  gold  ?  —  gold  from  the  hand 
That  spurns  me  ?     Never  !     Let  me  first  endure 
The  sharpest  pang  which  nature's  wants  inflict, 
And  starve  ignobly,  ere  accept  thy  bounty  ! 
(Enter  IANTHE  with  the  two  children.) 


MEDEA.  65 


IANTHE. 

O,  let  their  smiles  end  this  unnatural  strife  ! 

JASON. 

My  sons  I     Thou  wouldst  not  let  them  want  ? 

MEDEA. 

With  me 
They  suffer  what  the  gods  inflict.     Farewell. 

JASON. 

Woman,  thy  rashness  tempts  the  gods.     Art  thou 
A  mother,  and  thus  reckless  of  their  welfare, 
Whom  thou  shouldst  prize  above  all  other  blessings  ? 
Think  not  I  will  abandon  them  ;  the  king 
Shall  grant  my  prayer  ! 

MEDEA. 

And  what  will  that  avail  thee  ? 

JASON. 

Much  ;  here  shall  they  remain.     Can  I  intrust 
My  sons  to  one  so  desperate  ?     No  !     1  '11  snatch 
From  thy  unnatural  arms  their  tender  frames. 

MEDEA. 

Sport  with  the  thunder,  and  defy  the  lightning,  — 
They  may  be  merciful  ;  —  but  tempt  no  more 
Medea's  wrath  ! 

(Exeunt  MEDEA,  IANTHE,  and  children.) 
JASON. 

Infuriate  as  thou  art, 

Place  not  the  sufferings  which  thy  stubborn  spirit 
Now  dooms  thee  to  endure  to  Jason's  charge  !  [Exit. 

9 


66  MEDEA. 


SCENE   IV. 
In  the  palace  of  CREON.     Enter  CREON  and  CREUSA. 

CREUSA. 

NOT  yet  returned  !     Not  yet  !     Alas  !  strange  fears 
Thicken  around  my  heart ;  unbidden  tears 
Gush  from  my  eyes.     Avert  the  ornen,  gods  ! 

CREON. 

Why  thus  afflict  thyself  ?     This  day,  to  which 
Thy  terrors  cling,  sinks  'neath  the  western  wave. 

CREUSA. 

Slowly  to  my  impatient  eye  it  sinks. 

Fate  hangs  on  Phcebus'  chariot-wheels,  and  stays 

His  fiery-footed  coursers. 

CREON. 

And  with  Fate 

Nor  prayers  nor  tears  avail.     Go  then,  my  daughter, 
Array  thee  for  the  banquet,  and  await 
Thy  lord's  return  in  patience. 

CREUSA. 

Patience,  father  ! 

Patience  befits  a  slave.     It  is  allied 
To  dull  indifference.     They,  who  never  knew 
The  smile  of  happiness,  could  never  feel 
The  pangs  which  I  endure,  whose  aching  heart 
Fears  lest  each  moment,  as  it  onward  flies 


MEDEA.  67 


On  its  swift  wings,  should  bear  some  gloomy  cloud 

To  veil  that  smile  for  ever.     Even  now 

Jason  may  writhe  beneath  some  horrid  spell 

Or  fatal  poison  !     Who  shall  rescue  him  ? 

Is  not  that  dire  enchantress  versed  in  charms 

To  shorten  life  ?     What  human  power  can  bid 

Defiance  to  her  skill  ?  —  Why  lingers  he  ? 

Doth  she  still  love  him  ?     Then,  perchance,  her  wiles, 

Her  tears,  her  glowing  beauty,  have  ensnared 

Again  his  heart  ;  perchance  e'en  now  he  vows 

Fidelity  anew,  and  flies  with  her 

From  Corinth  and  Creusa,  self-exiled  ! 

O  falsehood  worse  than  death  ! 

CREON. 

Have  I  not  said, 

What  Fate  decrees  no  mortal  can  escape  ? 
Banish  thy  fears.     To  be  a  warrior's  bride, 
To  train  a  warrior's  sons,  befits  not  her 
Whose  heart  falls  captive  to  each  fancied  ill, 
And  shrinks  in  coward  weakness  from  the  glance 
Of  dark  Misfortune,  whom  the  gods  ordain 
The  monitor  of  mortals.     Go  ;  let  hope 
Drive  from  thy  breast  despondency. 
(Exit  CREUSA.) 

Her  fears, 

Despite  my  reason,  sink  into  my  heart. 
Medea's  prayer  I  granted  ;  shame  forbade 
That  I  —  a  man,  a  monarch  —  should  refuse 


68  MEDEA. 


A  boon  so  slight  ;  such  sternness  had  appeared 

A  wanton  cruelty.     Could  I  confess 

My  fears  enforced  me  to  't  ?     Day  vanishes, 

Yet  Jason  lingers.     May  the  gods  protect  him  !          [Exit. 


SCENE  V. 

Palace  of  JASON.     LYCUS  and  IANTHE. 

LYCUS. 

I  THANK  the  gods,  Medea  smiles  again  ! 

IANTHE. 

So  do  not  I.     Trust  me,  there  's  danger  in  't. 

LYCUS. 

Nay,  but  she  spoke  of  reconciliation. 

IANTHE. 

Strange  !  can  her  brain But  no,  she  '11  be  herself 

Though  all  the  world  with  Corinth  league  against  her. 
Do  thou  her  bidding,  be  thy  life  the  forfeit. 

LYCUS. 

In  that  I  am  her  slave.     She  comes. 
(Enter  MEDEA.) 

Dear  lady, 
The  gods  give  comfort  to  thy  heart ! 

MEDEA. 

They  do, 

Good  Lycus.     Peace  begins  to  fold  again 
Her  white  wings  o'er  my  breast.     I  pray  thee  bear 


MEDEA.  69 


Such  message  to  my  lord  ;  say,  't  is  my  prayer 
He  will  return  to  take  my  last  farewell, 
And  grant  my  pardon  for  the  late  offences 
Of  an  unbridled  tongue  ;  and  for  my  sons 
I  would  entreat  his  care  ;  bid  him  forget 
Their  mother's  folly,  and,  for  their  dear  sakes, 
Attend  me  here.     Haste,  for  time  wanes  apace. 
(Exit  LYCUS.) 

IANTHE. 

Ay,  lady,  few  and  short  the  hours  of  safety 
Allotted  us  in  Corinth. 

MEDEA. 

Us,  lanthe  ! 

IANTHE. 

Us,  lady.     Nay,  look  not  so  sadly  on  me. 

My  husband  and  myself,  by  thee  enfranchised, 

Are  still  the  slaves  of  gratitude  ;  with  thee 

In  cities  or  in  deserts  we  abide  ; 

With  thee  we  share  whate'er  the  Fates  decree,  — 

Danger,  or  toil,  or  death.     If  to  the  first 

Thou  7rt  doomed,  why  is  the  arm  of  Lycus  strong, 

If  not  to  ward  it  from  thee  ?     If  to  toil, 

Our  hands  and  hearts  shall  meet  it  ;  if  to  death, 

Alone  thou  shalt  not  tread  that  gloomy  path  ; 

We  follow  through  its  shades 

MEDEA. 

This,  this  is  friendship  ! 
To  suffer  such  a  sacrifice  would  prove 


70  MEDEA. 


Me  base  as  thou  art  pure  !     Ah,  no,  lanthe  ! 

The  path  which  I  have  chosen  too  rugged,  steep, 

Too  full  of  dangers,  is  for  mortal  foot, 

Save  mine,  to  press  ;  no  friend  may  share  it  with  me. 

Didst  thou  but  dream  its  horrors,  thou  wouldst  start 

From  sleep  as  from  an  enemy,  and  dread 

To  gaze  around  thee,  lest  thy  sight  be  blasted 

By  fiends  and  furies  poured  from  Tartarus, 

T'  inspire  the  monstrous  vision. 

IANTHE. 

No,  Medea  ; 

Earth  cannot  show  the  danger  whose  stern  front 
Would  awe  me  from  thy  side  ;  my  heart  might  quail, 
'T  is  true,  but  not  my  faith.     Then,  dearest  lady, 
Let  me  still  follow  thee  ! 

MEDEA. 

Think  not  of  it  ! 

E'en  I,  who  never  knew  dismay,  could  shrink 
From  the  dire  view,  and  supplicate  the  gods 
To  shroud  it  in  its  native  gloom  !     But  no  ! 
Each  moment,  in  distinctness  more  appalling, 
It  grows  before  me,  till  its  gorgon  shapes 
Transform  my  heart  to  marble  ! 

IANTHE. 

Ah,  my  princess  ! 

Thy  words  are  gloomy,  but  the  fire  of  vengeance 
Gleams  from  thine  eyes,  betraying  to  my  view 
The  thought  which  fills  thy  soul  ;  thou  meditat'st 


MEDEA.  \  71 


Revenge  as  mighty  as  thy  wrongs  ! 

MEDEA. 

Forget 

That  I  have  spoken,  that  thou  hast  dared  divine 
My  purposes  !     Go,  call  my  children  hither. 

IANTHE. 
Thy  children,  lady  ? 

MEDEA. 

Ay,  my  precious  boys, 
Whom  I  had  hoped  to  see  their  father  train 
To  serve  the  god  of  wars  !     But  mortal  hope, 
Mortal  presumption,  Heaven  delights  to  check, 
Lest  the  strong  tide  of  earthly  happiness 
Sweep  from  our  hearts  remembrance  of  the  gods 
From  whom  our  blessings  flow.  —  Didst  thou  not  hear 
My  will  ? 

IANTHE. 

Thy  pardon,  lady,  but  I  feared 

MEDEA. 

What  dost  thou  fear  ?     What  darest  thou  fear  ?     lanthe, 

I  brook  no  scrutiny  !  —  Yet  stay,  thy  love 

Commands  my  confidence.      Shall  I  go  forth 

To  misery  whilst  from  my  shattered  hopes 

Another's  bliss  is  springing,  —  another's  heart 

Securely  triumphing  in  Jason's  love,  — 

Another's  charms  receiving  Jason's  homage,  — 

Another's  form  in  confidence  reposing 

On  his  protecting  arm  ?     The  thought  is  madness  ! 


72  MEDEA. 


This  new-made  bride  and  her  tyrannic  sire 

Deem  me  their  victim  !  — Let  them  dream  so  ! —  soon 

My  hand  shall  chase  the  sweet  delusion.     Say, 

Is  it  not  right  ? 

IANTHE. 

Else  would  thy  foes  and  friends 
Esteem  thy  vaunted  courage,  skill,  and  power 
As  vanished  quite,  or  thy  strong  soul  subdued 
Beneath  these  wrongs. 

MEDEA. 

Such  doubts  shall  ne'er  be  theirs. 
A  poison  of  such  agonizing  power 
As  that  which  racked  Alcides'  iron  frame 
I  have  prepared  ;  to  the  Corinthian  bride 
Gifts  will  I  send  with  this  imbued  ;  and  when 
These  glittering  snares  adorn  her  form,  fierce  pangs 
And  sudden  death  ensue.     Go  now,  lanthe  ; 
By  my  sons'  hands  will  I  despatch  the  casket 
Which  holds  my  sure  but  unseen  vengeance.     Go. 

IANTHE. 

For  thine  own  safety,  —  hast  thou  thought  on  that  ? 
Thy  children,  too,  who  shall  preserve  their  lives  ? 
Their  blood  and  thine  must  flow  in  expiation. 

MEDEA. 

"  Hath  life  a  blessing  "  left,  that  1  should  fear 
The  stroke  that  brings  forgetfulness  of  ill  ? 
Yet,  though  T  dread  no  death  they  could  inflict, 
Shall  my  foes  boast  that  proud  Medea's  life 


MEDEA.  73 


Was  yielded  to  their  power  ?     Never  !     The  gods 
Inspire  me  with  a  higher  hope,  and  point 
A  refuge  far  from  hostile  Corinth.     Go  ! 

(Exit  IANTHE.) 

Can  she  suspect  ?     Are  my  soul's  agonies 
So  stamped  upon  my  face,  that  those  who  gaze 
Read  the  dire  thoughts  within  ?     Alas  !  alas  ! 
O'erburdened  Nature  doth  avenge  herself 
By  such  betrayal  of  the  wrongs  she  suffers. 
Yet  with  self-torture  must  I  buy  revenge, 
Or  live,  —  the  mockery  of  my  foes.     My  skill 
Hath  for  this  royal  bride  framed  pangs  as  dire 
As  hell  itself  can  boast.     He,  whose  false  heart 
First  caused  my  woes,  —  shall  he  escape  ?   Great  Themis, 
With  thy  stern  power  inspire  me  !     He  shall  live 
To  stand,  like  me,  'midst  desolation,  —  live, 
Till  the  pure  air  seems  burdened  with  a  curse, 
The  curse  of  hopeless  life. 
O  vengeance  !     No  mean  sacrifice  thy  voice 
Demands,  yet  to  thy  ensanguined  shrine  all,  all 
Thou  canst  require,  I  bring.  —  My  sons  !  my  sons  ! 
(Enter  the  children.) 

SONS. 

Dear  mother  ! 

MEDEA. 

Gods  !  have  ye  no  mercy  ?  — none  ? 

SONS. 

Do  not  weep,  mother  !     When  our  father  comes 
10 


74  MEDEA. 


He  '11  think  we  have  grieved  you,  and  will  then  be  angry  ; 

For  he  has  said,  if  we  would  have  him  love  us 

We  must  not  give  you  pain  ;  and  then  he  told  us 

How  you  preserved  his  life  from  cruel  men 

Who  would  have  murdered  him,  had  you  not  loved 

And  taught  him  how  to  shun  their  snares. 

MEDEA. 

Cease  !  cease  ! 

FIRST    SON. 

O  mother,  do  not  look  so  strangely  on  us  ! 
When  will  my  father  come  ?     If  you  are  troubled 
He  will1  console  you.     Why  does  he  go  from  us 
So  oft,  and  stay  so  long  ?     'T  is  almost  night. 

MEDEA. 

Quite  night  !  —  a  night  no  sun  shall  e'er  dispel. 
Poor  boys  !  you  know  not  the  funereal  gloom 
Which  o'erhangs  ye,  — frightful,  endless  night  ! 

SECOND  SON. 

But  when  our  father  comes  we  shall  not  mind  it ; 
For  I  have  heard  you  say  his  smile  could  chase 
All  darkness  from  your  mind. 
MEDEA. 

My  son,  my  son, 

Wouldst  thou  distract  me  ?     Jason's  smile  !     Alas  ! 
No  longer  doth  it  beam  for  us.     O  traitor  ! 
Doth  he  deserve  a  son  ?     No.     Let  my  hand, 
By  justice  armed,  sweep  from  his  sight  each  hope  !  — 
Ah,  wretched  mother  !  where  are  then  thine  own  ? 


MEDEA.  75 


Come  to  my  heart,  my  sons,  your  only  home  ! 

O  hapless  babes  !  ye  smile  in  the  embrace 

Of  misery,  unconscious  that  the  wretch 

To  whom  you  cling,  the  daughter,  wife,  and  mother 

Of  princes,  hath  no  shelter  for  your  youth, 

No  bulwark  for  your  safety,  but  these  arms  ! 

Yet  can  I  cast  ye  thence  ?     Ah,  no,  my  sons  ! 

Though  wretched,  outcast  from  my  husband's  love, 

There  is  a  strange  relenting  in  my  heart 

Which  whispers,  "  live  for  these,  and  in  their  smiles 

Find  hope."     I  yield,  and  am  again  a  mother  ! 

Why,  to  wound  Jason's  peace,  should  I  inflict 

Upon  myself  a  wound  more  deadly  far  ? 

Far  from  these  hostile  walls  we  '11  fly.     But  how 

Or  whither  ?     How  preserve  my  sons  from  want 

And  danger  ?     Should  death  seize  me  on  the  way, 

Must  they  not  perish  ?     Who,  in  all  this  land, 

Would  look  with  pity  on  Medea's  sons  ? 

To  fly  with  them  is  madness,  —  but  to  leave  them 

Here,  'mid  my  foes,  despair  ;  for  those  who  see 

The  royal  house  destroyed  beneath  my  hands 

In  their  hot  wrath  would  crush  these  helpless  ones. 

No,  by  the  gods  !     Within  their  tender  limbs 

Courses  the  blood  of  princes  !     'T  is  not  fit 

That  the  rude  touch  of  an  ignoble  foe 

Pollute  these  scions  of  a  race  of  kings  ! 

Nor  can  my  soul  permit  a  hated  Greek 

To  triumph  o'er  Medea's  slaughtered  sons. 


76  MEDEA. 


"  By  me  who  gave  them  life  death  shall  be  given  !  " 

Are  the  gods  just,  who  make  oblivion 

The  last,  best  gift  a  mother  can  bestow 

Upon  her  sons  ?     No  !     Ye  who  proudly  sit 

In  cloudless  glory  on  Olympus'  height, 

Who  revel  in  the  pleasures  and  the  crimes 

Of  man,  your  slave,  yet  on  his  frailties  heap 

Sorrow  and  suffering,  I  defy  ye  all ! 

Strong  in  despair  I  stand  !     My  children's  blood 

Shall  flow,  — libation  grateful  to  the  fiends 

Who  goad  my  heart  to  frenzy  !     Why  not  now  ? 

Why  not  at  once  escape  the  ills  that  close 

Like  waves  around  me  ? 

(Drawing  a  dagger  from  her  dress.) 

Steel,  upon  whose  point 
The  lurid  fires  of  vengeance  seem  to  play, 
And  menace,  as  they  gleam,  my  tardy  hand, 
No  longer  shalt  thou  thirst  !     Thy  magic  touch 
Shall  free  my  sons  and  me  !     To  thy  embrace 
My  full  heart  leaps 

FIRST    SON. 

Mother,  dear  mother, 
Give  me  that  knife. 

MEDEA. 

What  wouldst  thou  with  it,  boy  ? 

SON. 

Keep  until  I  am  a  warrior,  then 
Strike  to  the  heart  that  cruel  king  of  Corinth 


MEDEA.  77 


Who  spoke  uncivil  words  to  you  this  morning  !  — 
Give  me  the  knife  ! 

MEDEA. 

Take  it  and  live,  —  for  vengeance  !  — 
Go,  my  beloved  ones,  hasten  to  lanthe, 
And  bid  her  send  me,  by  your  hands,  a  casket, 
Which  on  my  couch  she  '11  find. 

(Exeunt  SONS.) 

'T  is  Jason  comes,  — 
His  heavy  tread  the  index  of  his  heart. 
Not  such  the  step  with  which  my  lord  once  came  ! 

(Enter  JASON.) 

JASON. 

"  I  come  at  thy  request,  for  though  "  thy  rage 
Burn  against  me,  my  aim  is  still  to  serve  thee. 
Whate'er  thy  wish,  Medea,  name  it  ;  I 
Stand  eager  to  fulfil  it. 

MEDEA. 

My  first  wish 

Is  thy  forgiveness,  Jason,  for  the  passion, 
Unjust,  imprudent,  which  I  nursed  against  thee. 
JT  is  past  ;  calm  reason  hath  resumed  her  reign 
Within  my  mind,  and  I  have  schooled  myself 
To  own  the  wisdom  of  thy  new  alliance. 
"  O,  be  not  thou  like  me  perverse  !  "     I  own 
The  error  of  my  judgment.     We  have  loved. 
O,  by  the  memory  of  those  days,  when  love 
Was  peace  to  us,  though  all  the  world  breathed  war, 
Forgive  my  selfish  rage  ! 


78  MEDEA. 


JASON. 

All  is  forgiven  ; 

Nor  do  I  blame  thee  for  the  past  ;  —  it  is 
A  woman's  part  to  watch  o'er  household  ties, 
And  when  by  jealous  fury  warmed,  forget 
That  love  should  yield  to  reason. 

MEDEA. 

Treacherous  Greek, 
Where  wert  thou  now  had  I  remembered  that  ?          [Aside. 

JASON. 

These  better  counsels  show  that  Time  hath  led 
Reason  in  triumph  to  her  seat,  and  prove 
Thee  wise  beyond  thy  sex. 

MEDEA. 

And  see.  our  sons  ! 

Come  forth,  my  dear  ones,  haste,  embrace  your  father. 
(JReenter  the  children.     They  place  a  casket  in  their  mother's  hand.) 
"  Ah  me  !  the  thought  of  some  concealed  ill 
Cornes  o'er  my  heart.     Will  you,  my  sons,  live  long 
To  stretch  your  dear  hands  thus  ?     Unhappy  me  ! 
These  eyes  have  lately  learned  to  weep,  this  heart 
To  know  what  fear  is." 

JASON. 

Nay,  subdue  thy  fears, 

Nor  doubt  my  cares  for  them.     My  noble  boys, 
The  gods  consenting,  I  shall  yet  behold 
Ye  great  and  glorious  in  the  state  of  Corinth. 
"  O,  may  I  see  you  blooming  in  the  pride 


MEDEA.  79 


Of  manhood,  and  to  every  virtue  trained 
Superior  to  my  foes  !     But  why  is  this  ? 
Why  stands  the  moist  tear  trembling  in  thine  eye  ? 
Why  is  thy  pale  cheek  turned  aside,  as  if 
Thine  ear  received  my  words  unwillingly  ?  " 

MEDEA. 

"  'T  is  nothing  ;  I  was  thinking  of  my  sons." 

JASON. 

"  Be  cheered  ;  their  welfare  is  my  dearest  care." 

MEDEA. 

u  I  will  be  cheered,  and  trust  thee  ;  yet  I  am 
A  woman,  and  by  nature  prone  to  tears." 

JASON. 

"  Why  o'er  thy  sons  with  such  excess  of  grief" 
Dost  thou  now  bend  ? 

MEDEA. 

4  (  I  am  their  mother  ;  when 

Thy  wish  was  breathed  that  they  might  live,"  my  heart 
Throbbed  e'en  to  bursting,  as  the  doubt  arose 
Whether  the  gods  would  grant  a  wretch  like  me 
A  boon  so  precious.     Yet,  my  lord,  of  thee 
The  favor  next  in  value  to  their  lives 
I  would  implore.     In  this  Corinthian  land 
I  may  not  dwell,  and  though  the  king's  command 
Exiles  my  sons  with  me,  let  not  his  wrath, 
Let  not  my  folly,  tempt  thee  to  desert  them. 
O,  let  them  live  beneath  thy  care  !     Not  when 
To  manhood  grown  will  they  require  thy  aid, 


80  MEDEA. 


Thy  watchful  eye,  thy  love,  and  thy  protection, 
But  now.     Entreat  the  king  revoke  his  sentence. 
Protect  them  still,  and  may  the  gods  reward  thee  ! 

JASON. 
I  will  entreat  his  favor. 

MEDEA. 

Nay,  implore, 

Command  !     Denial  hear  not,  understand  not  ! 
Look  on  their  tender  frames.     O,  leave  them  not 
To  know  an  exile's  wants  and  woes  !     They  are 
Thine  own,  thy  once-loved  sons  ;  thou  wilt  not,  no, 
Thou  canst  not,  let  them  suffer  ! 
JASON. 

Are  they  not 

Still  loved,  still  prized,  beyond  all  other  wealth  ? 
Ah  !  those  confiding  glances  touch  my  heart 
More  deeply  than  the  favor  or  the  wrath 
Of  thousand  kings  could  do.      My  warmest  prayer 
Shall  urge  their  stay. 

MEDEA. 

First  to  thy  bride  prefer 

Thy  suit.     O,  could  her  woman's  heart  repel  it  ? 
And  if  a  daughter's  voice,  a  daughter's  prayer, 
Present  it  to  the  king,  is  it  not  granted  ? 

JASON. 

Right  ;  to  Creusa  will  I  breathe  my  wish  ; 
Nay,  they  themselves,  in  childhood's  melting  tones, 
Shall  utter  it.     Their  infant  innocence 
Who  unrelentingly  could  view  ? 


MEDEA.  81 


MEDEA. 

His  fate 

He  blindly,  madly,  doth  pursue  !     (Aside.)     'T  is  well ; 
And  for  her  hands  I  have  prepared  a  gift, 
A  bridal  gift,  worthy  a  queen's  acceptance. 
Within  this  casket  lies  a  jewelled  crown  ; 
A  gold-embroidered  robe,  of  splendor  such 
As  Corinth  never  saw  ;  take  it,  my  sons, 
Take  it,  and  only  in  the  princess'  hands, 
As  from  the  humblest  of  her  servants,  place  it. 
Haste,  and  return  successful ! 
JASON. 

Doubt  it  not ! 
Who  could  resist  their  charms  ?  [Exit  with  children. 

MEDEA. 

He  loves  them  still  ! 

Without  there  !     Order  Lycus  to  my  presence. 
(Enter  LYCUS.) 

LYCUS. 

Can  he  be  distant  when  Medea  needs  him  ? 
What  would  the  princess  ? 

MEDEA. 

What  ?     Perchance  thy  life  ! 

LYCUS. 

'T  is  thine  !     What  wouldst  thou  for  it  ? 

MEDEA. 

Yonder  palace, 

Whose  torches  rival  the  bright  god  of  day, 
11 


M  KM  I.  A  . 


Whose  sounds  of  revelry  grate  on  my  ear 
Like  shrieks  of  souls  accursed  !     A  h;ilf-hour  hence 
See  l.h;il.  the  gorgeous  dome  bla/e  forth  in  splendor, 
To  flight  ,\i»rhf.  from  her  throne,  —  a  funenil  pyre 
for  ;j  (juecn's  n.-po:-.e  ! 

LYCU8. 

't  is  flone. 

severally. 


MEDEA.  83 


ACT    V. 

SCENE  I.     The  vestibule  of  J ASON'S  palace. 

Enter  MEDEA  and  IANTHE. 
MEDEA. 

'T  is  strange  that  I  could  sleep  :  we  cannot  always 
Wrestle  successfully  with  nature's  claims. 
Is  it  not  midnight  ? 

IANTHE. 

Lady,  no  ;  your  slumber 
Was  short. 

MEDEA. 

I  feel  as  if  long  hours  had  passed. 

IANTHE. 

Scarce  half  an  hour. 

MEDEA. 

Even  so  ?  —  Had  it  been  longer 
I  should  have  missed  the  fairest  sight  that  earth 
Can  now  afford  my  eyes.     O  ecstasy  ! 
The  palace  burns  !  —  it  flames  !     Like  maddened  steeds 
The  fiery  columns  dart  toward  the  clouds  ! 
Look,  look,  lanthe  !      Not  Apollo's  self, 


HI  MEDEA. 


As  from  their  ocean  bed  his  coursers  spring 
And  clothe  the  world  with  light,  e'er  to  my  soul 
Seemed  half  so  glorious  !  —  Still  onward  bound, 
Untamed,  untamable,  fleet  steeds  of  vengeance  ! 
Rear  high  your  golden  crests,  and  spurn  control ! 

(Enter  LYCUS.) 
Welcome  !     Thou  'rt  safe  ?  —  unharmed  ? 

LYCUS. 

And  unsuspected, 

MEDEA. 

I  thank  ye,  gods  !     But  speak  thy  tidings  !  haste  ! 
Pour  in  my  greedy  ear  all  that  hath  chanced. 

LYCUS. 

Unseen,  'neath  the  huge  dome  th'  insidious  torch 
I  placed  ;  then  mingled  with  the  revellers. 
The  youthful  bride  I  saw  ;  her  flowing  locks 
Bound  with  the  glittering  crown,  thy  fatal  gift. 
The  'broidered  robe  adorned  her  form.     Jason, 
His  sons  dismissed  to  their  wronged  mother,  turned 
His  eyes,  with  love  and  glad  ambition  bright, 
Upon  the  princess 

MEDEA. 

Peace,  nor  madden  me  ! 

LYCUS. 

Pardon  !     I  would  but  say,  e'en  as  he  gazed 
Her  color  faded  ;  from  her  pallid  lips 
A  shriek  of  anguish  burst ;  fainting,  she  sank 
In  Jason's  arms,  her  graceful  limbs  convulsed 


MEDEA.  85 


By  direst  agonies  ;  around  his  neck 

Her  arms  she  strove  to  throw,  and  faintly  murmured, 

"  The  fatal  casket !     O,  the  gifts  were  poisoned  !  " 

One  groan,  one  struggle  more,  her  pangs  were  ended. 

Joyful  that  death  had  come  to  her  relief, 

I  turned,  and  hither  sped  to  bid  thee  fly, 

If  flight  be  practicable. 

MEDEA. 

Doubt  it  not. 

Yet  one  word  more,  —  said  Jason  aught  ? 
LYCUS. 

These  words,  — 
"  Sorceress,  thy  heart's  best  blood  shall  answer  this  !  " 

MEDEA. 

An  oracle's  decree  were  not  more  sure  ! 
To  Juno's  shrine  I  haste.     The  secret  passage, 
Not  e'en  by  Jason  known,  unseen  admits  me 
Within  the  sacred  walls.  —  My  sons  still  sleep  ? 

IANTHE. 

Ay,  lady. 

MEDEA. 

On  their  lips  I  will  impress 

A  parting  kiss,  then  fly.     For  you,  my  friends,  — 
Hark  !  — no  ;  they  come  not  yet,  —  a  slight  delay 
Secures  me.     Speed  my  course,  propitious  powers, 
On  to  the  goal  of  vengeance  !     Let  my  foot 
Fail  not,  heart  quail  not,  hand  and  eye  shrink  not  ! 

[Exit. 


86  MEDEA. 


LYCUS. 

She  goes  ;  but  to  what  end  ?     On  every  side 
Destruction  presses.     Who  can  turn  aside 
The  hot  pursuit  ?     All  Corinth  will  arise 
T'  avenge  a  deed  so  bold. 

IANTHE. 

O  Heaven,  regard 
A  wife  and  mother  wronged  ! 
LYCUS. 

Did  Heaven  regard 

The  woes  of  earth,  these  wrongs  had  never  chanced. 
Yet  will  it  show  this  mercy  !  —  soon  to  end  them. 

IANTHE. 

But  how  ? 

LYCUS. 

In  death. 

IANTHE. 

Medea  !     Death  ! 

LYCUS. 

Was  she 
Not  born  to  die  ? 

IANTHE. 

To  conquer,  not  to  yield, 
Seemed  to  my  mind  her  birthright.     Must  she  die  ? 

LYCUS. 
How  live  ?  how  'scape  ? 

IANTHE. 

Will  not  the  temple  shield  her  ? 


MEDEA.  87 


LYCUS. 

Dream  not  of  it.     She  nurses  not  the  hope. 

IANTHE. 

Yet  she  was  calm. 

LYCUS. 

The  calmness  of  despair. 
She  goes  to  die. 

IANTHE. 

Nay,  Lycus O,  her  sons  ! 

They  '11  ask  me  for  their  mother  !     Must  I  teach  them 
What  death  is  ? 

LYCUS. 

May  their  mother's  enemies 
Leave  thee  the  task  ! 

IANTHE. 

Gods  !     Will  they  raise  their  hands 
Against  those  innocents  ? 

LYCUS. 

Infuriate  men 
Pause  not  for  such  regards. 

IANTHE. 

I  left  them  sleeping. 

Can  it  be  their  last  slumber  ?     Even  now 
A  sudden  horror  thrills  me  !     Watch  thou  here 
While  to  their  couch  I  fly.  [Exit. 

LYCUS. 

To  what  purpose 
Should  I  watch  here  ?     To  view  yon  towering  pile 


88  MEDEA. 


Yield  to  the  insidious  flames,  and  hear  the  cries 
Of  fear,  and  rage,  and  horror,  which  the  crowd, 
Who  gaze,  send  upwards  to  the  crimsoned  heavens  ? 
But  hark  !     What  flying  step  ? 

(Enter  IANTHE.) 
IANTHE. 

O  Lycus  ! 

LYCUS. 

What  hast  thou  heard  or  seen  to  fright  thee  thus  ? 
lanthe,  speak  ;  if  but  a  word  ! 

IANTHE. 

Blood  !  [Faints. 

LYCUS. 

Blood  ! 

Whose  blood  ?  —  She  faints  !  —  lanthe,  my  beloved, 
Rouse  thee  !     Whose  blood  ?  — What  thought  I  dare  not 

speak 

Distracts  my  soul  ?  —  lanthe  !  —  She  hears  not, 
Breathes  not, — perchance  lives  not  !    Within  there,  help  ! 

[Exit,  bearing  IANTHE. 

SCENE  II. 

Temple  of  JUNO  ACREA.     Altar  and  statue  of  the  goddess.     The  bodies  of 
MEDEA'S  children  before  the  altar.    MEDEA. 

MEDEA. 

VENGEANCE  hath  had  her  perfect  rites  !     Now,  now, 
Welcome,  ye  hounds  of  Corinth  !  —  for  I  hear 


MEDEA.  89 


Your  distant  voices  clamoring  for  the  prey,  — 
Welcome  !     A  woman's  and  a  mother's  hand 
From  your  expectant  grasp  hath  snatched  the  victims  ! 
In  horrid  safety  lay  the  new-fledged  eaglets, 
Whose  eyes,  just  trained  to  meet  the  sun's  fierce  glance, 
Relentless  fate  hath  sealed  in  death.    Death  !  —  death  !  — 
Unfathomable  mystery  !  my  lips 
Speak  thy  familiar  name,  and  yet  my  soul 
Rebels  against  thy  power.     Within  my  hand, 
Fearless,  unfaltering,  I  hold  the  knife, 
Stern  witness  of  thy  doings,  — near  me  lie, 
Insensible  to  hope  or  fear,  the  sons 
So  loved,  so  worshipped,  —  but  my  heart  feels  not 
Thy  presence,  visible,  palpable,  though  it  be. 
For  in  the  mirror  of  fast-flowing  tears 
Imagination  paints  my  children's  forms  ; 
The  music  of  their  voices  fills  my  ear. 
Enchantment  of  as  strong,  as  blinding  power 
To  mortal  reason,  as  a  mother's  love, 
Nor  heaven  nor  hell  can  boast ! 
And  yet  this  hand,  nerved  by  infernal  rage, 
Hath  stopped  the  gushing  stream  of  life  in  veins 
Fed  from  the  fountain  of  this  heart  !     Ye  gods  ! 
Dare  I  to  talk  of  love  ?     The  very  fiends 
Mock  at  the  sound,  and,  as  the  shivering  earth 
Gapes  'neath  my  feet  accursed,  from  the  abyss 
Swarm  the  dire  brood  ;  above,  around,  they  press. 
They  bar  each  avenue  of  escape,  proclaim 
12 


90  MEDEA 


Me  homeless  and  deserted  of  my  kind, 

And  in  my  tortured  ear  their  serpent  tongues 

Hiss  forth  a  welcome  to  their  vengeful  band. 

Hence,  horrid  shapes  !     I  'm  human  still  !     Hell  taunts, 

Earth  shakes,  mankind  rejects,  yet  here  I  sink 

Upon  the  bosoms  of  my  slaughtered  babes, 

Here  dare  repose,  nor  powers  of  earth  or  hell 

Shall  fright  me  hence  ;  for  here,  at  least,  is  peace. 

Peace  to  the  young,  pure  hearts  which  ne'er  shall  throb 

Beneath  the  burden  of  Life's  guilt  and  woe, 

And  peace  to  me,  who  in  this  marble  stillness 

Behold  Heaven's  dearest  boon.     And  now  one  glance, 

One  last  embrace,  —  the  last  on  earth  !     The  rose 

Hath  scarce  yet  faded  from  your  lips,  my  sons, 

The  smile  still  lingers  there,  as  life  were  loath 

To  part  from  shrines  so  fair.     Had  ye  awaked, 

As  with  despair's  fell  strength  your  wretched  mother 

Grasped  the  dire  steel,  could  I  have  done  this  deed  ? 

No,  by  the  gods  !     The  heart  once  tasked  to  the  bounds 

Of  Nature's  great  endurance,  oft  a  word 

May  strike  with  sudden  force  the  quivering  chord, 

And  free  the  wearied  soul.     Devoted  babes, 

Had  sleep  released  you  from  its  bonds,  one  glance 

Had  been  Apollo's  messenger  ;  my  heart 

Had  burst  beneath  its  power,  and  ye  had  lived,  — 

To  glut  Corinthian  rage.     I  thank  the  gods 

It  is  not  so  !     Upon  your  cheeks  the  icy  chill  of  death 

Thrills  through  my  veins ;  —  't  is  well,  —  I  should  be  stern  ; 


MEDEA.  91 


For  one  more  task  remains,  and  then  — to  rest  ! 
The  step  I  watch  for  comes.     Vengeance,  instruct  me 
To  teach  his  heart  some  knowledge  of  the  pangs 
Which  rend  my  own  ! 

(Enter  JASON.) 

JASON. 

Detested  fiend,  who  tempt'st 
The  wrath  of  men  and  gods,  vainly  thy  feet 
Pollute  this  sacred  dome  !     What  seek'st  thou  here  ? 

MEDEA. 

Safety. 

JASON. 

Thy  words  profane  the  goddess.      She 
Rears  not  her  awful  front  within  this  dome 
To  stay  the  hand  of  justice. 

MEDEA. 

Nay,  but  to 
Protect  the  injured. 

JASON. 
Let  the  guilty  tremble  ! 

MEDEA. 

Tremble  thou  'neath  the  chaste  eye  of  the  goddess, 
Stern  guardian  of  connubial  faith,  and  swift 
Avenger  of  the  violated  vow  ! 
Hence,  ere  the  lightnings  of  her  wrath  consume  thee  ! 

JASON. 

Restore  my  sons  !     Haste,  for  a  hundred  swords 
Thirst  for  their  blood  and  thine  ! 


92  MEDEA. 


MEDEA. 

Vainly  they  thirst. 

Shall  the  pure  stream,  which,  from  the  sacred  fount 
Of  great  Apollo's  heart,  courses  these  veins, 
Brighten  the  dull  steel  of  the  robber  race 
Of  Sisyphus  ?     Phoebus  himself  forbids  ; 
For  me  and  for  my  sons  a  nobler  way 
He  opes,  —  a  proud  escape  ! 

JASON. 

Vain,  frantic  woman  ! 

For  thee  there  's  no  escape.     Without  regret, 
I  leave  thee  to  thy  fate.     My  children  !      Speak  ! 

Reveal  their  hiding-place 

MEDEA  (taking  a  goblet  from  the  altar). 

First  let  us  pour 
The  full  libation. 

JASON. 

Peace  !     Darest  thou  profane 
The  sacred  rites,  and  with  thy  blood-stained  hands, 
To  the  pure  wife  of  Jove 

MEDEA. 

Nay,  to  the  dead  ! 

JASON. 

The  dead  !     What  dead  ?     Speak,  woman  !  hast  thou 
dared 

MEDEA. 

I  have  not  dared  ;  —  how  should  I  dare,  whose  heart 
Hath  no  communings  with  the  spectral  form 


MEDEA.  93 


Which  men  call  Fear  ?  —  but  I  have  done  a  deed 
Shall  make  earth  tremble,  and  the  pale  moon  shrink 
Beneath  her  canopy  of  clouds  ;  and,  more, 
Shall  teach  the  tyrant,  man,  that  we,  the  weak, 
Frail  beings,  whom  he  fain  would  keep  his  slaves, 
Can  rise  in  the  strong  armor  of  the  soul, 
And  hurl  him  to  his  native  dust  !     Behold  ! 

[Showing  the  knife. 

JASON. 

Yon  crimson  stain  !     Say  whence  !     O  gods,  the  view 
Curdles  my  blood  with  horror  !      I  must  doubt 
Or  die  !     Thou  hast  deceived,  to  torture  me  ; 
I  will  forgive,  and  save  thee,  if  thou  wilt 
But  say  't  is  not 

MEDEA. 

It  is  —  thy  blood  and  mine  ! 

[JASON  falls  senseless. 

Well  sped,  keen  shaft  of  vengeance  !     Let  me  gaze 
My  last  upon  the  form  whose  peerless  beauty 
Bewildered  my  young  heart !     How  changed  am  I, 
Since  'neath  the  wild,  impetuous  sway  of  Love 
I  bowed,  and,  confident  in  Jason's  faith, 
Braved  the  rude  dangers  of  the  deep,  and  sought 
This  hostile  shore  !     Then,  then  I  loved,  — I  loved 
As  now  I  hate,  ay,  loathe,  the  prostrate  form 
By  falsehood  stricken  !     At  my  feet  he  lies, 
Unconscious  of  his  woes,  and  I,  who  slew 
My  sons,  in  slumber  smiling,  hold  the  knife 


94  MEDEA. 


Above  his  breast ;  yet  him  I  could  not  strike 

Were  worlds  the  price  !    He  was  my  husband  !  —  was  !  — 

O,  what  an  age  of  woe  that  "  was  "  contains  ! 

My  heart's  whole  wealth  was  his  ;  my  very  being 

Seemed  centred  in  his  life  and  happiness  ; 

Madly  I  loved,  as  madly  have  I  punished  ! 

Yet,  by  the  immortal  gods,  I  could  not  harm  him  ! 

0  woman,  to  thy  first,  last,  only  love, 

What  wondrous  memories  cling  !     True,  thou  mayst  hate, 
Condemn,  despise,  yet  canst  not  all  forget  ! 
How  like  to  death  this  torpor  !     Yet  he  lives, 
A  victim  sacred  to  the  gods  ! 

JASON. 

Ah  me  ! 
Do  I  still  live,  or  have  I  followed  those 

1  love  to  Pluto's  realm  ?     Ha  !     I  remember  ! 
Hast  thou  no  lightnings,  Jove  ? 

MEDEA. 

Ay,  to  my  hand 
Hath  he  intrusted  them  ;  't  is  thine  to  suffer  ! 

JASON. 

Woman,  fiend,  murderess,  hence  !    Thou  second  Gorgon, 

Whose  baleful  beauty  proves  a  curse  more  fell 

Than   hers,    what   hast   thou  done  ?      They  were   thine 

own,  — 

Drew  from  thy  bosom  life,  and,  pillowed  there, 
Slept  the  sweet  sleep  of  infancy  ;  from  thee 
Their  rosy  lips  first  learned  to  lisp  the  name, 


MEDEA.  95 


The  tender  name,  so  outraged  by  thy  deeds  ; 
They  called  thee  "  mother,"  yet  thy  hand  has  slain 
them  ! 

MEDEA. 

By  thee  they  perished  !     Thy  foul  wrongs  to  me, 

Thy  vows  profaned,  thy  household  gods  deserted, 

Thy  wife,  thy  sons,  abandoned,  to  indulge 

Thy  roving  fancy  and  thy  black  ambition, 

Called  with  the  thunder's  voice  on  Heaven  for  vengeance  ! 

And  it  is  granted  ! 

JASON. 

Such  a  vengeance  !     What 

Should  woman  do  with  vengeance  ?     But  thou  art 
No  woman,  but  a  Fury  'scaped  from  hell  ; 
"  False  to  thy  father,  traitress  to  thy  country," 
And  stained  in  youth  with  kindred  gore  ! 

MEDEA. 

Shameless  ! 

Barest  thou  reproach  me  with  the  crimes  which  owe 
Their  birth  to  thee  ?     Strange  to  my  soul  they  were, 
Till  thy  false,  fatal  love  darkened  each  sense 
To  all  things  but  thy  safety.     'T  was  for  thee 
Absyrtus  bled.     The  deed  was  then  a  virtue, 
But  now,  —  yet  he  's  avenged  ! 
JASON. 

He  is; 

"  The  wrathful  Furies  punish  on  my  head 
Thy  crimes." 


96  MEDEA. 


MEDEA. 

Have  they  spared  me  ? 

JASON. 

Thy  heart  must  bleed  ;  — 
But  no  !  't  is  marble,  and  thy  fiendish  nature 
Thirsted  for  blood,  "  thou  tigress,  of  a  soul 
More  wild,  more  savage,  than  the  Tuscan  Scylla  !  " 
Sought'st  thou  revenge  for  thy  imagined  wrongs, 
Why  not  in  my  heart's  blood  imbrue  thy  hands  ? 

MEDEA. 

And  bless  thee  with  oblivion  !     Were  that  vengeance  ? 
Me  thou  didst  doom  to  hopeless  life  ;  for  this 
Thy  bride,  thy  sons,  I  slew,  —  th'  expected  throne 
Snatched  from  thy  eager  grasp  !     I  see  thee  stand, 
Like  me,  alone,  and  ask  no  other  bliss  ! 
"  Call  me  a  tigress,  then,  or,  if  thou  wilt, 
A  Scylla,  howling  'gainst  the  Tuscan  shore  !  " 
For  this  I  wrestled  with  my  woman's  heart  ; 
For  this  'neath  pangs  Prometheus  never  knew 
I  writhed  !     A  rich  requital  from  the  gods 
I  reap  in  thy  despair. 

JASON. 

Thy  fiendish  joy 
Full  soon  must  end. 

MEDEA. 

Hence,  u  and  entomb  thy  bride  "  ! 
JASON. 
Too  well  thou  know'st  the  flames,  meet  instruments 


MEDEA.  97 


Of  hands  like  thine,  have  snatched  from  me  that  solace. 
Yet  a  more  mournful  task  remains.     "  Yield  me 
My  sons,  that  I  may  mourn,  and  bury  them." 

MEDEA. 

Never  !  in  death,  as  life,  they  're  mine  ! 

JASON. 

Think  not 
To  rob  me  of  their  ashes. 

MEDEA. 

Beneath  Acrea's  outstretched  arm  they  lie, 
And  who  shall  snatch  them  thence  ? 
JASON. 

Their  father's  hand  ! 

The  bleeding  bodies  of  my  slaughtered  sons 
Thus  do  I  snatch,  despite 

MEDEA. 

Forbear  ! 
(Enter  PRIESTESS  of  JUNO.) 

PRIESTESS. 

Forbear  ! 

Nor  dare  insult  the  goddess  !     At  her  feet 
The  precious  relics  lie  !     Dread  to  profane 
Her  shrine  !     Retire,  rude  man  ! 
(Enter  on  one  side  CORINTHIANS  ;  LYCUS  and  IANTHE  on  tfa  other.) 

PRIESTESS. 

Corinthians,  back  ! 

Respect  this  dome. 
13 


98  MEDEA. 


CORINTHIANS. 

The  goddess  we  revere, 
But  for  the  murderess,  she  is  ours. 

MEDEA. 

Away, 
Corinthian  slaves  !     To  Fate,  not  you,  I  yield  ! 

[Stabs  herself. 

'T  is  done  !     The  blood,  yet  moist  upon  this  steel, 

Mingles  again  with  the  warm  fountain  whence 

Its  bright  stream  flowed  !  —  lanthe,  aid  me  near, 

Yet  nearer,  to  the  sons  my  struggling  soul 

Burns  to  rejoin.     Witness  that  as  she  lived 

Medea  dies,  —  in  tameless,  glorious  freedom,  — 

Scorning,  defying,  mortal  power  !     For  thee, 

Ungrateful  friend,  false  father,  perjured  husband, 

My  curse  is  on  thee,  — live  !  [Dies. 


ERMINIA; 


A  TALE  OF  FLORENCE 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


GUIDO  BUONDELMONTI,     .     .     .  A  young  Florentine  Noble. 

Rossi, His  Friend. 

AMIDEI, An  old  Nobleman  of  Florence. 

LAMBERTUCCIO  AMIDEI,    .     .     .  His  Kinsman. 
MOSCA  LAMBERTI,  -| 

STIATTA  UBERTI, 

f  Allies  and  Kinsmen  of  the 
FIFANTI,  >      .     .      1 

Amidei. 
MANELLI, 

MALESPINI, 

ERMINIA, Daughter  to  Amidei. 

LEONORA, Her  Friend. 

WIDOW  DONATI. 

COSTANZA, Her  Daughter. 

LUCIA, Costanza's  Attendant. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  of  Florence. 
SCENE.     Florence. 


E  RM  I  N  I  A. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.     A  room  in  the  Amidei  palace.    Enter  ERMINIA 
and  LEONORA. 

LEONORA. 

NAY,  nay,  Erminia  !     Avoid  your  guests 

On  your  betrothal  eve  ?     The  crowd,  that  wait 

To  view  the  noblest  youth  and  fairest  maid 

All  Florence  boasts,  will  think  you  crazed.    Come,  come  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Dear  Leonora,  urge  me  not.     My  soul 
Receives  no  pleasure  from  the  dazzling  show 
Of  vain  respect  ;  my  joy  is  all  within. 
Ah,  leave  my  heart  the  bliss  to  gaze  awhile 
On  its  own  happiness  ! 

LEONORA. 

You  are  too  proud. 

ERMINIA. 

Say  it  be  so,  't  is  my  inheritance  ; 

The  gift  of  nature,  not  th'  effect  of  art. 

I  could  not  quell  it,  were  't  to  gain  a  crown. 


104  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


LEONORA. 

There  's  not  another  lady  in  all  Florence, 
Whose  heart  would  not  beat  quicker  if  this  throng 
Assembled  in  her  honor. 

ERMINIA. 

She,  whose  heart, 

In  the  betrothal  hour,  throbs  with  delight 
At  incense  offered  to  her  beauty's  power, 
Save  from  her  chosen  knight,  hath  never  loved  ! 

LEONORA. 

I  '11  talk  no  more,  for  here  Count  Guido  comes. 
Now  shall  I  see  this  stubborn  mood  of  thine 
Yield  to  thy  lover's  smiles. 

(Enter  BUONDELMONTI.) 

BUONDELMONTI. 

My  Cytherea, 

What  cruelty  controls  thee  ?  Round  thy  shrine 
Thy  votaries  throng,  yet  the  capricious  goddess 
Veils  her  joy-giving  face.  Thy  hand,  my  fair  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Thou,  too,  against  me  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

'Gainst  thee,  love  ?  how  so  ? 
I  would  that  she  whom  I  adore  should  be 
The  worshipped  of  all  hearts. 

ERMINIA. 

In  very  truth, 
I  ask  to  be  the  worshipped  of  but  one. 


ERMINIA.  105 


And  true  it  is,  that,  woman  as  I  am, 

I  'd  rather  face  these  knights  in  war  array, 

Than  meet  their  eyes  fixed  on  me,  when  they  deem 

I  woo  their  flattering  glance. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Dost  thou  contemn 
The  homage  of  thy  friends  ? 

ERMINIA. 

I  thank  their  kindness,  - 

For  such  't  is  meant ;  but  the  contempt  reserve 
For  my  unworthy  self,  if  I  should  feel 
A  wish  t'  indulge  the  tempter,  Vanity, 
Despite  the  better  voice  within  my  heart. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Thou  'It  not  refuse  thy  lover  this,  perchance 

The  last  request  the  lover  e'er  may  make 

Thus  low,  rny  fair  ;  —  for  my  sake  give  consent ! 

ERMINIA. 

Who  can  refuse  when  Buondelmonti  pleads  ? 
(Exeunt  BUONDELMONTI  and  ERMINIA.) 

LEONORA. 

Who  can  refuse  when  Buondelmonti  pleads  ? 
Not  his  Erminia  :  proud  as  she  is, 
Naught  knows  she  of  that  graceful  tyranny 
Which  takes  delight  in  straining  to  the  utmost 
The  bonds  of  love,  then  loosing  them  again 
Ere  they  are  weakened.      Yet  she  has  more  power, 

With  her  mild  dignity,  than  other  maids, 
14 


106  ERMINIA. 


However  charmingly  capricious,  hold. 

Those  whom  she  wins  would  be  her  slaves  for  life, 

And  think  the  leave  to  serve  her  were  a  boon 

That  kings  might  covet.     Hark  !  the  voice  of  mirth 

And  music  echoes  through  the  halls.     I  '11  fly, 

For  one,  at  least,  is  watching  for  my  step.  [Exit. 


SCENE  II. 

A  hall  in  the  palace.     Enter  ERMINIA,  BUONDELMONTI,  AMIDEI, 
L.  AMIDEI,  UBERTI,  Rossi,  and  others. 

AMIDEI. 

MAY  these  espousals  prove  a  joyous  prelude 
To  nuptials  still  more  joyous  !     While  we  thus 
Make  Love  and  Truth  the  columns  of  our  state, 
Florence,  united  in  herself,  shall  stand 
Unharmed  amid  the  storm  of  war,  whose  wrath 
O'erwhelms  each  neighbouring  province. 

L.    AMIDEI. 

Ay,  our  strength 

Lies  in  our  union  ;  let  no  reckless  hand 
Disturb  this  basis  of  our  happiness  ; 
But  may  each  Florentine,  like  our  good  host, 
Confirm  by  wise  and  just  alliances 
The  interests  of  the  state. 

AMIDEI. 

Let  music  sound ; 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A .  107 


Lead  forth  the  dance,  and  let  your  mirth  proclaim 
That  Amidei's  daughter  is  betrothed 
To  Buondelmonti's  lord  !     Let  Florence  hear 
The  joyful  news,  and  know  that,  while  her  sons 
Maintain  such  concord,  war  may  vainly  strive 
To  enter  at  her  gates,  which  only  discord 
Can  e'er  unbar  !     Come,  gentle  cavaliers, 
Beseech  your  lovely  dames  to  grace  the  dance. 

[  The  knights  and  ladies  dance. 
(Enter  LEONORA.) 

L.    AMIDEI. 

Fair  Leonora,  grant  your  hand,  I  pray  ! 
Fain  would  I  rouse  Uberti's  jealousy. 

LEONORA. 

Gallant  confession  !     So  you  ask  my  favor, 
Not  for  my  own  sake,  but  to  do  despite 
Unto  your  friend  ?     Indeed,  it  were  but  just 
That  every  lady  should  reject  your  suit 
For  your  discourteousness,  and  let  you  stalk 
The  phoenix  of  the  evening. 

L.    AMIDEI. 

Lady  fair, 

I  will  confess  I  dared  not  say  how  much 
I  prized  thy  grace,  lest  he  should  hear  the  tale, 
And  mar  my  suit. 

LEONORA. 

Thou  hast  so  good  a  grace 
In  mending  a  lame  speech,  I'll  pardon  thee  ! 


108  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


AMIDEI. 

Now  to  the  banquet,  where  the  ruddy  wine 

Shall  wake  your  mirth  anew,  and  each  shall  pledge 

His  chosen  fair. 

(Exeunt  all  but  ERMINIA,  BUONDELMONTI,  and  UBERTI.) 

UBERTI. 

Though  Florence  may  rejoice, 
Yet  many  a  heart  within  her  walls  is  sad, 
And  greets  with  sighs  and  tears  this  festive  hour. 

ERMINIA. 

Uberti  jests  ;  or  I  have  enemies 
Of  whom  I  dreamed  not. 

UBERTI. 

Enemies,  fair  coz, 

You  can  have  none  :  despairing  lovers  mourn 
That  young  Erminia's  betrothals  steal 
From  their  benighted  hearts  hope's  last  faint  ray. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Speak  you  of  lovers,  sir  ?     Pray  you,  decide, 
Am  I  not  prince  in  Florence,  since  I  've  won 
Its  greatest  treasure  ?     Emperor  and  pope 
May  wrangle  for  the  devastated  fields 
Of  war-worn  Italy  ;  not  for  their  crowns 
Would  I  exchange  this  triumph  !     What  care  I,  • 
That  they  with  bloody  laurels  wreathe  their  brows  ? 
Be  mine  the  myrtle  crown,  whose  hue,  Erminia, 
Is  not  more  fadeless  than  my  love  for  thee. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  109 


TJBERTI. 

You  may  be  styled,  in  her  right,  prince  of  Florence  ; 
She  rules  its  noblest  hearts.     Unhappily, 
'T  is  with  a  sway  that  scarce  can  be  transferred  ; 
For  such  allegiance  as  young  knights  bestow 
Is  selfish,  and  demands  return  ;  and  he 
Who  robs  them  of  the  price  of  their  devoir 
They  will  esteem  their  tyrant.     Good  my  lord, 
You  will  have  deadly  foes  in  Florence. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Ay? 

In  such  a  cause  I  'd  singly  face  a  thousand, 
And  deem  my  life  by  far  too  poor  a  price 
For  my  Erminia's  love.     I  pray  you,  sir, 
Are  any  of  her  desperate  suitors  here  ? 
For  I  would  know  them.     If  I  chance  to  fall 
In  their  good  company  I  '11  fill  my  wine 
In  the  Venetian  goblet,  and  my  hand 
Shall  rest  upon  my  weapon's  hilt,  prepared 
To  win  my  bride  anew. 

UBERTI. 

Mix  with  the  guests, 

And  each  who  views  you  with  a  frowning  brow 
Note  -as  your  rival.     But  Erminia 
Can  name  each  sighing  cavalier  ;  doubt  not 
Each  victim  is  recorded  in  her  heart. 
And  she  has  scores  of  trophies,  — broidered  scarfs, 
Won  in  close  field  from  many  a  hapless  knight, 


HO  ERMIN  I  A. 


Laid  by  the  victors  at  their  tyrant's  feet, 
To  prove  their  claim  to  glory  and  to  love. 
And  she  has  moving  lays  from  youths  forlorn, 
More  plaintive  than  the  last-expiring  chords 
Of  Orpheus'  lyre,  which  she,  as  barbarous 
As  his  tormentors,  hears  with  cruel  pleasure. 

ERMINIA. 

Good  cousin,  cease  ;  this  is  the  veriest  fooling 

TJBERTI. 

That  e'er  charmed  maiden's  ear  ;  runs  it  not  so  ? 

ERMINIA. 

That  ever  tortured  maiden's  ear.     Uberti, 

Had  I  your  poignant  wit,  I  might  describe 

A  broidered  scarf,  worn  next  a  young  knight's,  heart  ; 

Not  won  in  battle-field,  but  cunningly 

Stolen  from  a  lady's  bower  ;  and  I  could  tell 

Of  a  bright  shield,  whereon  a  dagger's  point 

Has  traced  a  name,  which  the  unskilled  might  deem 

Contained  some  powerful  spell,  since  the  proud  knight 

Doth  gaze  on  it,  and  sigh,  and  quite  forget 

To  shake  the  buckler  in  his  foeman's  face. 

TJBERTI. 

I  cry  you  mercy,  coz  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Nay,  't  is  too  late  ; 

You  dared  the  combat.      Shall  I  now  reveal 
That  name,  that  magic  name 

TJBERTI. 

Beseech  you,  pardon 


ERM  I  N  I  A.  HI 


My  forward  tongue,  and  spare  the  mighty  secret  ! 

ERMINIA. 

I  will  show  mercy  ;  't  is  the  attribute 
Of  my  weak  sex.     Go,  seek  some  other  victim 
To  sacrifice  to  the  bright  god  of  wit, 
Whom  you  essay  to  worship. 

UBERTI. 

Nay,  the  god 

Will  find  no  offering  on  his  shrine  to-night  ; 
He  hath  not  deigned  to  aid  his  votary, 
But  gives  the  victory  to  a  woman's  tongue. 

ERMINIA. 

O,  be  not  humbled,  cousin  ;  you  will  find 

Yours  oft  the  case  of  those  audacious  ones 

• 

Who  enter  in  the  lists  of  wordy  war. 
Shall  we  not  join  the  revellers  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

We  are 
Your  captives,  and  must  follow  as  you  lead. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

The  chapel  of  the  palace,  dimly  lighted.     LAMBERTI  discovered 
kneeling  before  the  altar. 

LAMBERTI  (rising  and  coming  forward). 
LET  me  no  more  insult  the  immortal  throne 
With  mortal  anguish  !  All  in  vain  I  seek, 


112  ERMINIA. 


Within  this  blest  asylum  of  man's  woes, 

To  conquer  such  regrets  as  rack  the  hearts 

Of  the  condemned,  who,  from  their  drear  abodes, 

Behold  heaven's  gates  closed  on  them.     Not  a  hope 

Illumines  my  despair.     Which  way  I  turn, 

All  things  increase  my  frenzy.     Here,  even  here, 

The  calm  that  doth  pervade  this  hallowed  dome 

Soothes  not  my  grief ;  but  recollection  dire 

Adds  tenfold  fury  to  my  pangs.     These  walls 

Have  scarce  yet  ceased  to  echo  to  the  steps 

Of  the  espousal  train.     Erminia's  voice 

Seems  still  to  linger  here.     At  yonder  shrine 

She  knelt  in  happiness,  while  I,  poor  wretch, 

Far  from  the  scene  of  splendor,  hid  my  head, 

And  called  on  death  ! 

(Enter  UBERTI.) 

UBERTI. 

Who  calls  on  death  ?     My  friend  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Go  !     What  care  I  for  friends  ?     Away,  I  say  ! 
Why  dost  thou  trespass  on  my  privacy  ? 

UBERTI. 
Is  't  not  my  privilege  to  share  thy  griefs  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

I  would  hold  converse  with  my  misery 
In.  solitude.     The  heart's  most  secret  cells 
Brook  only  to  be  bared  by  Him  who  made  them. 
I  pray  you  importune  me  not.     I  am 


ERMINIA. 


At  variance  with  myself,  and  scarce  can  have 
More  patience  with  another. 
UBERTI. 

In  this  mood 

I  will  not  leave  you.     Come,  walk  forth  with  me  ; 
The  chapel's  gloom  oppresses  you. 

LAMBERTI. 

I  would 

That  I  could  find  some  spot  in  all  the  earth, 
Where  none  would  play  the  spy  upon  me  ! 

UBERTI. 

Faith ! 

Thou  art  possessed,  for  such  discourteous  bearing 
Belongs  not  to  thy  native  mood  !     Lamberti, 
Shake  off  this  weakness  !     Be  again  yourself ! 
Brace  on  your  armor,  too  long  cast  aside, 
Nor  let  your  friends  suspect  you  have  renounced 
Your  vows  of  chivalry.     A  belted  knight 
Is  the  world's  champion,  and  has  no  right 
To  nurse  love's  fantasy  while  battle-shouts 
Ring  o'er  Italia's  plains.     Shall  we  not  forth 
To-morrow,  and  rejoin  the  Emperor, 
Who  '11  gladly  welcome  us  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

Such  was  my  purpose. 

UBERTI. 

Thanks  to  the  saints  for  the  first  words  of  reason 
Thou  'st  uttered  for  a  month  !     Lamberti  lives 

For  Fame  again  ! 

15 


114  ERMINIA. 


LAMBERTI. 

Fame  ! 

UBERTI. 

Wherefore  dost  thou  name  it 
With  such  contempt  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

It  is  not  happiness  ! 

UBERTI. 

Time  was  you  boasted  Fame  your  bride. 

LAMBERTI. 

And  still 

Is  she  my  bride.     With  her  I  '11  dare  my  fate,  — 
My  hall  the  battle-field,  my  bridal  song 
The  groans  of  dire  despair,  whose  horrid  notes 
Will  rise  in  due  accordance  with  the  joys 
That  fill  the  bridegroom's  breast. 

(Music  faintly  heard,  as  from  a  distance.) 

Ah  !  not  for  me 

Those  joyous  strains.     The  trumpet-blast  of  death 
Shall  soon  announce  my  hymeneal  feast ! 

UBERTI. 

O  noble  heart,  how  sadly  art  thou  crushed  ! 

But  short  time  since,  a  silver  clarion's  voice 

Charmed  with  its  glorious  melody  not  more 

Than  thy  bold,  equal  tones  ;  but  now,  alas  ! 

All  is  discordant  ;  sorrow's  careless  touch 

Hath  jarred  the  strings  and  spoiled  the  harmony.       [Aside. 

Lamberti,  rouse  thee  !     While  we  linger  here 


E  RM  I  N  I  A. 


Our  laurels  wither.     They  must  taste  again 

The  smoke  and  blood  of  battle.     Come,  my  friend, 

We  are  but  recreant  knights  ;  while  thus  we  waste 

The  golden  moments,  newer  aspirants 

Will  place  their  names  o'er  ours  in  Glory's  list. 

To  thee  Italia  turns,  and  cries,  u  O,  why 

Doth  young  Lamberti  shun  the  field  of  fame  ?  " 

LAMBERTI. 

Uberti,  cease  !     Thy  words  annoy  my  ear, 

But  make  no  impress  on  my  o'er-wrought  brain. 

Fame  !  glory  !  honor  !  bawbles  are  ye  all  ! 

Did  I  not  seek  them,  as  the  plodding  merchant 

Seeks  wealth,  that  I  might  purchase  happiness  ? 

And  hath  she  not  escaped  my  eager  grasp  ? 

Go  to  the  merchant,  when  the  famine's  breath 

Hath  blighted  the  fair  land,  or  pestilence 

Stalks  through  the  lofty  city  ;  mock  him,  then, 

As  with  deep  groans  he  mourns  the  impending  doom, 

And  say,  "  Look  on  thy  gold,  arise,  be  healed, 

For  thou  didst  love  and  seek  it !  "     Will  he  not 

Bid  thee  behold  the  death-stamp  on  his  brow, 

And  ask  if  gold  be  life  ?     Mock  me  not,  friend  ; 

The  plague-spot  is  upon  my  heart  !     Not  all 

The  homage  of  man's  breath  can  cleanse  the  poison  ! 

And  yet  thou  talk'st  to  me  of  fame,  as  if 

It  were  some  talisman  to  charm  away 

The  heart's  deep  malady  ! 

UBERTI. 

Each  word  I  speak 


116  ERMINIA. 


He  doth  convert  to  aliment  for  his  woe. 
But,  soft,  here  comes  the  author  of  this  mischief. 
She  cannot  make  it  worse  ;  perchance  her  words 
May  soothe  Lamberti  from  this  sullen  mood. 
(Enter  ERMINIA.) 

ERMINIA. 

Uberti  here  ?     I  think  't  is  not  your  wont 
To  fly  the  banquet.     Ah,  my  cousin  Mosca  ! 
You  are  a  stranger,  sir  ;  you  did  not  grace 
Our  festival  to-night. 

LAMBERTI. 

Your  pardon,  lady  ; 

I  had  a  vow,  —  a  penance  to  perform,  — 
A  weary  vigil,  which  would  not  permit 
That  I  should  be  a  reveller  to-night. 

ERMINIA. 

Indeed  !     Then  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  seek 
To  draw  such  faithful  vot'ries  from  its  service  ! 
And  yet  I  think  thou  shouldst  have  paid  thy  vow 
Some  day  ere  this  ;  thy  duty  thus  to  Heaven 
Had  been  discharged,  nor  would  thy  gallantry 
Have  stood  impeached.     You  blush  !     Fie,  fie, 
My  gallant  cousin,  't  is  not  well  in  you 
To  put  such  slight  upon  a  lady's  bidding. 

LAMBERTI. 

Lady,  will  you  condemn  me  all  unheard  ? 

ERMINIA. 

Had  it  been  told  me  that  you  would  have  proved 


ERMINIA. 


Neglectful  of  my  wishes,  I  'd  have  waged 
('T  is  well  I  did  not !)  on  your  courtesy 
This  chaplet  of  white  roses  on  my  brow. 

.    LAMBERTI. 

One  bud  of  it  were  far  too  rich  a  gage 
For  my  deserts. 

ERMINIA. 

You  are  my  debtor,  cousin, 
For  this  neglect,  and  must  redeem  your  fame  ; 
So,  on  my  bridal  eve,  I  charge  you  come 
And  sue  my  pardon  for  to-day's  offence. 

LAMBERTI. 

Lady 

ERMINIA. 

Signor,  denial  will  not  pass. 

LAMBERTI. 

Erminia,  take  my  life  rather  than  force  me 
To  such  refinement  of  my  misery  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Lamberti,  I  had  thought 

LAMBERTI. 

Ay,  you  have  thought 
That  I  was  of  the  giddy,  heartless  crew, 
Who  throng  around  you  but  to  feast  their  eyes 
Upon  your  beauty's  blaze  ;  whose  deepest  feeling 
Is  that  your  cheek  is  fair,  your  eye  is  bright ; 
Whose  very  glance  profanes  your  worth.  —  Alas  ! 
My  tongue  o'erleaps  the  barrier  of  my  will  ! 


ERM  I  N  I  A 


It  was  my  wish  that  you  should  deem  me  thus, 

And  so  erase  me  from  your  memory. 

Forgive  me  that  I  've  trespassed  on  your  hearing  ! 

For  I  had  no  intent  t'  intrude  myself. 

Darkening  the  sky  of  your  bright  festival 

By  my  o'erclouded  presence. 

ERMINIA. 

You  are  wrong 

To  term  yourself  intruder  ;  well  you  know 
You  are  an  ever-welcorne  guest  ;  my  sire 
Esteems  you  as  a  son,  and  I  have  held 
You  ever  as  a  brother. 

LAMBERTI. 

Far  too  near 
That  title  ;  yet  not  dear  enough. 

ERMINIA. 

I  deemed 

That  you  had  shaken  off  that  idle  dream, 
And  turned  again  to  thoughts  more  worthy  of  you. 

LAMBERTI. 

Would  it  were  so  !  —  and  yet  I  cannot  wish 

You  were  less  worthy,  or  myself  less  true. 

Erminia,  to  forget  thee  I  must  lose 

Each  nice  perception  of  my  heart  and  brain, 

By  which  I  know  you  loveliest  of  your  sex,  — 

The  rarest  maid  that  ever  virtue  crowned. 

True,  I  have  dreamed  ;  the  memory  of  that  dream 

Will  haunt  me  while  I  live,  —  to  madness  haunt  me  ! 


ERMINIA.  H9 


When  I  behold  you  not,  gloom  overpowers  me, 
And  frenzy  racks  my  soul.     When  you  are  near, 
I  tremble  and  would  fly,  but  am  enchained 
By  the  most  potent  majesty  of  love. 

ERMINIA. 

Lamberti,  cease  !     The  words  I  would  not  list 
While  I  was  yet  mine  own  offend  my  ear, 
Vowed  to  transmit  the  homage  of  but  one 
Unto  my  wedded  heart.     True,  I  am  not 
As  yet  a  wife,  but  the  betrothal  rites 
Precede  but  shortly  that  more  sacred  tie. 
Yet  do  not  think  I  blame  you  ;  —  I  'm  in  fault. 
Since  all  unwittingly  I  forced  your  speech, 
When  you  had  fain  been  silent. 

LAMBERTI. 

Pardon,  lady  ! 

Thy  sweet  rebuke  I  justly  have  deserved. 
Yet  my  heart's  will  would  close  my  lips  for  aye, 
Ere  they  should  breathe  a  syllable  to  pain 
Thy  modest  ear.     O,  may  you  never  know 
The  pangs  which  you  inflict !     Beseech  you,  now, 
Pronounce  forgiveness  for  the  last  offence 
Lamberti  will  commit. 

ERMINIA. 

Cousin,  I  pray  you, 

Take  not  my  words  so  gravely.     Look  on  me 
As  a  fond  sister,  and  the  change  will  drive 
Uneasiness  from  both. 


120  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


LAMBERTI. 

When  thou  canst  learn 

To  school  thine  own  heart  as  thou  urgest  me,  — 
When,  without  murmuring,  thou  canst  resign 
Count  Guido  to  another,  and  canst  teach 
Thy  heart  and  lips  to  name  him  u  brother,"  then 
I  can  obey  thee  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Ah  !  his  words  strike  deep  ! 
How  weakly  do  I  seek  to  turn  his  love 
By  vain  conceits,  which  could  not  change  my  own  !    [Aside. 
Cousin,  adieu  !     I  trust  we  '11  meet  again 
In  calmer  moments. 

LAMBERTI. 

No,  Erminia  ! 

This  parting  is  our  last !     Each  time  I  sever 
From  thy  dear  presence  is  repeated  death. 
Why  should  I  wilfully  renew  such  pain  ? 

ERMINIA. 

This  is  most  sudden  and  unwelcome  news  ; 
I  trust  thou  'It  not  desert  fair  Florence  so  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

O,  say  no  word  of  favor,  lest  my  heart 
O'erleap  the  barrier  resolution  forms, 
Again  offending  thee  with  its  vain  plaint, 
Despite  thy  prohibition  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Fare  thee  well, 


ERMINIA. 


Good  knight  and  true  ;  Heaven  grant  thee  happiness  ! 

LAMBERT!  (kneeling). 
Farewell,  Erminia  ! 

(Exit  ERMINIA.) 

Farewell  to  hope, 
Farewell  to  joy  !  —  would  't  were  to  life  ! 

UBERTI. 

Alas! 

His  passion  knows  no  bounds,  but  in  its  fury 
Enchains  a  soul  which,  but  for  that  one  weakness, 
Has  strength  to  rule  a  world. — Rouse  thee,  my  friend!  — 
He  heeds  me  not.  —  Lamberti,  art  thou  mad  ? 
Shake  off  this  grief !     Trust  me,  Erminia 
Were  a  far  better  soldier  ;  she  would  pay 
Neglect  like  hers  with  scorn.     Borrow  some  touch 
Of  her  proud  spirit. 

LAMBERTI. 

Pray  thee,  cease  thy  words  ! 
Woe  relishes  no  converse  save  its  own, 
And  silence  is  its  greatest  comforter. 
Uberti,  by  our  friendship,  leave  me  now  ! 
I  cannot  brook  that  mortal  eye  should  view 
My  weakness  and  my  woe.     At  morning's  dawn 
We  '11  meet.     Good  night. 

UBERTI. 

Even  as  you  will  ;  good  night. 

[Exeunt  severally. 
16 


122  E  R  M  I  N  I  A . 


ACT    II. 

SCENE  I.     A  street  on  the  banks  of  the  ARNO. 
Enter  the  WIDOW  DONATI  and  Rossi,  meeting. 

WIDOW. 

SIGNOR,  well  met. 

ROSSI. 
Your  servant,  noble  lady. 

WIDOW. 

In  sooth,  my  lord,  I  would  your  words  of  greeting 
Were  more  than  courtesy. 

ROSSI. 

i 

But  honor  me 

With  a  command,  you  '11  find  them  so. 
WIDOW. 

I  '11  test 

Your  friendship,  sir.     For  many  a  tedious  year 
In  my  ambitious  breast  has  dwelt  a  plan, 
Unseen  and  unsuspected,  yet  not  less 
The  guide  of  all  my  actions.     Through  the  day 
I  slowly  gathered  power  to  force  success  ; 
At  night  my  dreams  were  of  the  accomplishment 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  123 


Of  my  design.     Now  are  my  means  full  ripe  ; 
'T  is  time  to  act ;  but  yet  I  lack  a  friend 
To  set  my  scheme  in  motion. 

ROSSI. 

I  am  yours 
For  aught  save  treason  'gainst  the  state. 

WIDOW. 

O,  fie. 

Suspicious  mortal  !  wherefore  such  a  clause  ? 
What !     Am  I  capable  to  stir  such  deeds 
As  most  of  men  would  start  from  ?     Am  I  one 
To  o'erthrow  governments  and  build  anew 
Upon  their  ruins  ? 

ROSSI. 

Lady,  you  are  one 

Who,  if  you  had  the  will,  would  find  the  power 
For  aught  that  mortal  e'er  achieved. 

WIDOW. 

Go  to  ! 

You  are  a  flatterer  !  —  But  truce  !     My  plot 
Is  one  of  marriage. 

ROSSI. 
What  !  remate  yourself  ? 

WIDOW. 

Not  I  !     Too  long  I  've  borne  authority, 
And  queened  it  o'er  my  own  domains,  to  shrink 
Into  a  secondary  star,  and  hide 
My  beams  beneath  a  lord's  imperious  eye. 
My  daughter  is  the  party. 


124  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


ROSSI. 

Daughter,  say  you  ? 
You  must  mistake  ;  rather  your  younger  sister. 

WIDOW. 

If  you  will  be  true  friend  to  my  design, 
Prithee  cease  fooling  ;  I  7m  not  in  the  mood. 

ROSSI. 

I  will  be  grave  as  is  his  Holiness 
When  Germany  looks  fierce.     Declare  your  will. 

WIDOW. 

Hark  !  hark  !     What  melting  sounds  make  glad  the  air 
That  sweeps  from  Arno's  breast  ? 

(A  long  train  of  barges  gayly  decorated,  containing  ERMINIA,  BUON- 
DELMONTI,  LEONORA,  AMIDEI,  UBERTI,  and  others,  appears  upon 
the  river. ) 

ROSSI. 

The  strain  proceeds 
From  yonder  train  of  boats. 
WIDOW. 

A  gallant  show, 

Worthy  our  gallant  city  !     Pray  you,  sir, 
What  glad  event  do  they  thus  celebrate  ? 

ROSSI. 

Lady,  you  see  the  friends  and  followers 
Of  Buondelrnonti's  house,  and  also  those 
Of  Amidei's  blood.     But  the  last  night 
The  fair  Erminia,  Amidei's  child, 
To  the  young  Buondelmonti  was  betrothed. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  125 


WIDOW. 

Now  Heaven  forbid  that  thy  lips  utter  truth  ! 
No  raven's  voice  with  more  unwelcome  note 
E'er  croaked  of  death  ! 

ROSSI. 

Why  should  it  anger  you  ? 
WIDOW. 

Fool  that  I  am  !     It  is  the  overthrow 
Of  my  so  cherished  scheme.     'T  was  to  this  end 
I  did  entreat  thy  friendship. 
ROSSI. 

To  what  end  ? 

Thy  passion  soars  so  high  it  cannot  stoop 
To  explain  this  sudden  fire. 

WIDOW. 

Out  on  thy  dulness, 

That  cannot  guess  what  I  forget  to  speak 
Betwixt  surprise  and  wrath  !     It  is  this  lord 
To  whom  I  'd  give  my  daughter. 

ROSSI. 

'T  is  too  late. 

WIDOW. 

Thou  shalt  not  say  or  think  so  !     While  I  live, 
And  time  moves  on,  "  too  late  "  shall  not  exist  ! 
I  '11  blot  those  words,  "  too  late,"  "  impossible," 
Out  of  my  language.     Whoso  utters  them 
Before  my  presence  I  '11  esteem  my  foe  ! 


126  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


ROSSI. 

Well,  lady,  I  am  promised  to  your  service  ; 
What  shall  be  done,  and  how  ? 
WIDOW. 

O  vile  delay, 

How  hast  thou  punished  me  !     'T  is  ever  thus 
With  those  who  sport  with  Time.     He  doth  avenge 
Full  dearly  insult  to  his  majesty. 
Rossi,  since  first  my  daughter  saw  the  light, 
I  have  resolved  to  raise  my  house's  fortunes 
By  wedding  her  with  Buondelmonti's  heir. 
She  hath  been  trained  and  tutored  for  his  rank. 
Such  beauty,  grace,  and  rare  accomplishments  !  — 
Smile  if  you  will  ;  no  mother's  vanity 
Dictates  my  boast.     Thou  shalt  behold,  and  own 
My  judgment  cool.     Describe  Erminia. 

ROSSI. 

Have  you  not  heard  report  of  her  ? 

WIDOW. 

I  have ; 

But  Rumor's  hundred  tongues  as  much  exceed 
The  simple  truth,  as  hundreds  one. 

ROSSI. 

Not  here. 

Walk  on  with  me  towards  the  river's  brink, 
And  scan  her  features  as  she  leaves  the  barge  ; 
Then  wilt  thou  see  the  fairest  of  her  sex 
Since  Helen  ruined  Troy. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  127 


WIDOW. 

I  '11  follow  you ; 

Then  lead  you  to  my  house,  where  you  '11  confess, 
That  as  immortal  Venus  outshone  Helen, 
So  far  Costanza's  beauty  dims  Erminia's. 


SCENE  II. 

A  room  in  the  WIDOW  DONATI'S  house.     COSTANZA  seated. 
LUCIA  attiring  her. 

COSTANZA. 

THY  hands  are  slow  to-day,  or  else  I  lack 
My  wonted  patience,  Lucia.     Now  the  mirror. 
Fie  on  thee,  girl,  what  spirit  of  awkwardness 
Is  in  thy  fingers  ?     O,  these  curls  are  stiff 
As  thou  hadst  meant  them  to  perpetuate 
Thy  skill  for  ever  !     If  my  glass  is  true, 
No  village  maid  upon  her  bridal  day, 
Fearful  to  move  lest  she  should  disarrange 
Her  wondrous  finery,  looks  more  prim  than  I. 

[Pulls  the  ornaments  from  her  hair,  and  shakes 
the  curls  over  her  neck  and  shoulders. 

Here  goes  your  labor  !     Now  my  tiring  's  done. 
Lucia,  thou  'st  been  abroad  ;  give  me  the  news. 

LUCIA. 

Lady,  there  's  naught  so  new  as  thine  own  whims  ; 
Each  minute  brings  a  fresh  one. 


128  E  R  M  I  N  I  A . 


COSTANZA. 

Thank  thy  stars 
That  thou  art  spared  the  tediousness  of  old  ones  ! 

LUCIA. 

That  's  my  sole  comfort,  —  the  variety 

Of  your  caprice.     Did  you  not  change  so  oft, 

I  should  expire  of  weariness. 

COSTANZA. 

Alas! 

If  I  had  not  such  whims,  into  what  channel 
Wouldst  thou  disperse  the  current  of  thy  spleen  ? 

LUCIA. 
Perchance  upon  your  mother. 

COSTANZA. 

Why  on  her  ? 

LUCIA. 

Because  she  so  overloads  the  packhorse,  patience, 
With  lecturing  on  thy  beauty  and  thy  grace. 

COSTANZA. 

Is  this  the  news  ? 

LUCIA. 

Ah,  no  !   't  is  old  as  thou  art. 
But  there  is  news  abroad  thou  'It  joy  to  hear. 
Last  night  the  young  Erminia  was  betrothed 
To  Guido,  heir  of  Buondelmonti's  house. 

COSTANZA. 

Lucia,  can  this  be  true  ? 

LUCIA. 

Lady,  e'en  so. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  129 


COSTANZA. 

Perish  Lamberti's  love,  and  from  its  tomb 

My  hopes  shall  soar  !     Say,  heardst  thou  aught  of  him  ? 

LUCIA. 

'T  is  said  Lamberti  has  resolved  to  join 
St.  John's  bold  champions. 

COSTANZA. 

Say  no  more,  my  girl. 
O,  I  am  sick  at  heart  that  I  have  given 
My  love  unto  a  knight,  who  foolishly 
Hath  chased  the  shadow  that  still  fled  his  grasp, 
And  scorned  the  treasure  that  he  might  have  won  ! 
I  am  revenged,  in  that  Erminia 
Slights  him  as  he  slights  me. 

LUCIA. 

Ah  !  love  is  blind, 

Or  he  would  see  how  much  Costanza's  charms 
Exceed  Erminia's. 

COSTANZA. 

Yet  she  is  fair. 

LUCIA. 
She  'd  seem  but  common,  place  her  by  your  side. 

COSTANZA. 
She  is  too  tall,  yet  she  hath  majesty. 

LUCIA. 

You  have  most  grace,  so  you  need  not  be  rivals, 
Differing  so  much. 
17 


130  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


COSTANZA. 

Ay,  true.     Should  a  sylph  seek 
To  emulate  Diana,  or  Diana 
Pine  to  exchange  her  huntress  mien,  to  wear 
The  sylph's  unfettered  motion  ?     Yet  I  would 
I  knew  the  charm  by  which  she  won  her  cousin  ! 

LUCIA. 

They  grew  beneath  the  selfsame  roof. 

COSTANZA. 

Even  so. 

If  that  's  a  reason  for  his  love  to  her, 
She  should  love  him. 

LUCIA. 

Had  ever  love  a  reason  ? 
COSTANZA. 
Ay,  girl,  my  love  for  him. 

LUCIA. 

Is  't  possible  ? 
I  should  not  have  divined  it. 

COSTANZA. 

Say'st  thou  so  ? 

I  love  him  that  he  hath  the  noblest  bearing 
Of  any  knight  in  Florence  ;  then  his  fame 
In  knightly  deeds  might  win  a  lady's  heart  ; 
And,  lastly,  I  would  pierce  his  stubborn  breast, 
Because  it  is  so  stubborn  'gainst  my  smiles, 
And  that  the  maid  who  wins  Lamberti's  hand 
Will  wring  the  hearts  of  half  her  sex  in  Florence. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  131 


LUCIA. 

Three  reasons  ;  but  the  last  most  apt  of  all  ! 

COSTANZA. 

I  see  not  how  Erminia  should  control 
Lamberti's  heart  so  strongly,  for  she  seems 
Indifferent  of  conquest.     Now  I  think 
That,  with  more  cunning,  I  can  wider  spread 
Beauty's  dominion  ;  for  I  can  command 
Every  gallant  by  his  own  vanity  ; 
For  each  one  thinks  it  is  for  him  I  sigh, 
And  each  one  is  persuaded,  past  all  doubt, 
That  he  is  knighthood's  mirror,  and  his  worth 
Dimming  each  rival's  fame.     I  would  so  rule, 
That  for  each  smile  I  could  command  a  life. 

LUCIA. 

O  grasping  vanity  !  how  many  ways 

Thou  seek'st  for  thy  indulgence  !  [Aside. 

COSTANZA. 

See  who  comes. 

LUCIA. 

Thy  mother,  and  a  stranger  by  her  side. 

COSTANZA. 

Perchance  I  '11  now  hear  more  of  this  betrothal. 
The  sound  is  music  to  my  ear. 

(Enter  WIDOW  and  Rossi.) 
WIDOW. 

My  lord, 
This  is  my  daughter  whom  I  named  to  you. 


132  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Costanza,  Signer  Rossi  is  a  friend 
Whom  you  must  favor. 

COSTANZA. 

Sir,  I  am  well  pleased 
To  bid  you  welcome. 

ROSSI. 

Lady,  I  am  happy 
That  I  am  thus  permitted  to  behold 
The  gem  of  Florence. 

COSTANZA, 

You  are  courtly,  sir. 
Dear  mother,  what  news  bring  you  from  abroad  ? 

WIDOW. 

You  shall  know  by  and  by.     Perchance  I  '11  tell 
What  will  not  discontent  you.     Stand  aside, 
While  I  hold  conference  with  this  gentleman. 

[COSTANZA  and  LUCIA  retire. 
What  think  you  further  of  the  plan  I  named  ?      [To  Rossi. 

ROSSI. 

The  Count  is  yours. 

WIDOW. 

Does  not  Erminia  wane 
Beneath  this  sun  of  beauty  ? 

ROSSI. 

I  will  speak 

With  honesty.     To  me,  Erminia 
Is  far  more  lovely  ;  but  my  friend,  the  Count, 
Is  giddy,  fickle,  and  one  winning  glance 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  133 


From  yonder  maid  will  bring  him  to  her  feet, 

Enslaved  as  Hercules  to  Lydia's  queen, 

Or  Antony  to  Egypt's.     Novelty 

Is  his  divinity,  and  vanity 

Doth  more  than  love  control  his  bridal  choice. 

It  is  his  boast,  that  Buondelmonti's  wife 

Shall  be  the  empress  of  Italia's  fair. 

There  is  no  point,  no  shadow  of  resemblance 

Between  your  daughter  and  Erminia  ; 

Neither  would  suffer  by  comparison 

With  her  fair  rival  ;  but  the  novelty 

Of  young  Costanza's  beauty  will  enchain 

Count  Guide's  roving  eye. 

WIDOW. 

'T  is  now  your  part 
To  lure  him  hither. 

ROSSI. 

That  shall  soon  be  done. 
Hath  she  the  wit  to  bear  this  scheming  out  ? 
Trust  me,  't  is  not  her  face  alone  can  bind 
Our  whimsical  gallant.     If  her  sweet  voice 
Discourse  not  in  such  sort  to  enchant  his  ear, 
His  eyes  will  speedily  throw  off  their  bondage. 
Say,  hath  she  art  ? 

WIDOW. 

A  true  Italian  brain. 

ROSSI. 
She  shares  your  secret  ? 


134  E  R  M  I  N  I  A . 


WIDOW. 

O,  content  you,  sir  ! 
I  'm  not  so  mere  a  woman.      She  is  free 
Who  knows  not  how  she  's  ruled.     Nature  's  perverse, 
Prone  to  rebellion  since  the  days  of  Eve. 
I  prompt  ambition  and  forbid  not  love  ; 
So  hath  she  not  th'  original  temptation 
And  spur  to  disobedience. 

ROSSI. 

But  't  is  time 
She  were  prepared  to  second  your  design. 

WIDOW. 

Daughter,  approach.     Think'st  thou  a  coronet 
Would  grace  those  flowing  locks  ? 

COSTANZA. 

Mother,  I  would 
The  question  were  less  idle. 

WIDOW. 

Say'st  thou  so  ? 
Would  not  thy  head  ache  'neath  such  weight  of  honor  ? 

COSTANZA. 

And  if  it  did,  the  pain  were  far  more  welcome 
Than  any  pleasure.     But  why  trifle  thus  ? 

WIDOW. 
Obey  me,  and  the  coronet  is  thine. 

COSTANZA. 

And  by  what  means  ? 

WIDOW. 
Marriage.     Do  you  consent  ? 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  135 


COSTANZA. 

Not  till  I  see  the  noble  from  whose  hand 
The  gift  shall  come. 

WIDOW. 

Count  Guido  Buondelmonti. 

COSTANZA. 

Mother,  you  mock  me,  or  your  brain  is  turned  ! 
He  to  an  Amidei  is  betrothed. 
WIDOW. 
The  tie  shall  be  dissolved. 

COSTANZA. 

This  passes  patience  ! 
WIDOW. 

Be  calmer,  dear.     This  gentleman  doth  vouch 
That  young  Count  Guido  can  be  won  by  thee. 

COSTANZA. 

The  gentleman  is  over-generous  ! 

My  grateful  heart  doth  lack  the  wit  to  frame 

An  answer  suited  to  his  courtesy, 

In  thus  bestowing  on  my  humble  self 

The  fair  Erminia's  lover  !      Much  I  fear 

The  lady  and  the  Count  are  ignorant 

Of  their  rich  luck  in  such  a  faithful  friend. 

ROSSI. 

The  lady  hath  a  tongue  !  [Aside. 

WIDOW. 

Costanza,  cease  ! 

Say,  if  I  bring  the  coronet  to  your  feet, 
Will  you  accept  it  ? 


136  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


COSTANZA. 

Ay  ;  I  would  it  were 
Th'  imperial  crown  ;  it  is  the  richer  gift  ; 
Pray  you,  let  it  be  that  ! 

WIDOW. 

Well,  infidel, 

Be  thou  attired  as  best  may  suit  the  rank 
To  which  I  will  advance  thee. 

COSTANZA. 

Would  I  dared 

To  swear,  that  till  I  see  the  coronet 
No  other  ornament  shall  grace  my  head  ! 

WIDOW. 

Rossi,  we  will  retire,  and  further  plan 
To  benefit  this  unbelieving  girl. 
Costanza,  get  thee  gone,  and  deck  thyself 
As  I  commanded.     I  will  tell  thee  more 
When  I  return. 

[Exeunt  WIDOW  and  Rossi. 

COSTANZA. 

Well,  Lucia,  lend  thy  wit, 
And  aid  me  to  expound  this  riddle. 
LUCIA. 

I? 

I  am  bewildered  !     But  it  seems  some  plan 
Has  risen  in  your  mother's  restless  brain, 
To  wed  you  to  this  Count. 

COSTANZA. 

I  have  long  known 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  137 


That  what  she  wills  she  '11  do  ;  yet  her  last  words 
Seem  so  absurd,  that,  but  I  know  her  wit 
Is  seldom  at  default,  I  much  should  fear 
She  were  distraught. 

LUCIA. 

Wilt  thou  be  ruled  by  her 
If  she  has  reason  in  her  strange  commands  ? 

COSTANZA. 

I  will.     Who  would  not  be  obedient 

At  such  a  price  ?  —  to  wear  a  coronet  ! 

O,  in  my  dreams  I  've  worn  a  jewelled  crown  ! 

But  I  '11  content  me  with  the  coronet. 

LUCIA. 

Imperial  dreamer  !  thy  dread  majesty 
Already  hath  forgot  the  one  loved  knight  ! 

COSTANZA. 

No  more  of  him  !     I  now  shall  be  revenged 
Upon  all  sides.     Lamberti  slighted  me 
For  fair  Erminia's  love,  and  she  in  turn 
Revenged  my  slight  by  loving  Buondelmonti. 
Now,  if  I  win  her  lover,  I  shall  be 
Dearly  revenged  on  her,  who  caused  Lamberti 
To  scorn  the  heart  he  knew  he  could  have  gained. 

LUCIA. 
And  this  will  cure  your  love  ? 

COSTANZA. 

Harp  not  on  that  ! 

18 


138  E  R  M  I  N  I  A . 


I  think  the  golden  circlet's  blaze  in  time 
Will  quite  consume  it. 

LUCIA. 

I  have  heard  it  said 
Erminia  loved  this  lord. 

COSTANZA. 

I  loved  Lamberti, 
But  yet  she  kept  him  prisoner. 

LUCIA. 

'T  was  his  fault, 
But  sure  not  hers,  since  she  would  none  of  him. 

COSTANZA. 

If  I  gain  Buondelmonti,  she  may  wed 
Lamberti  to  revenge  herself  on  me. 

LUCIA. 

Heaven  grant  no  worse  revenge  may  come  than  that  ! 
Methinks  't  is  ominous,  that  the  word  "  revenge  " 
Falls  from  your  lips  so  oft. 

COSTANZA. 

Prate  not  of  omens, 
But  follow  me.     I  will  array  myself 
As  my  shrewd  mother  wished,  and  wait  the  end. 

[Exit  COSTANZA. 

LUCIA. 

That  ever  Cupid  should  beguile  thee  thus, 
And,  in  his  malice,  lure  thee  to  believe 
Thou  couldst  love  any  save  thy  own  sweet  self ! 
In  faith,  Lamberti  is  far  happier 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  139 


Mourning  Errninia's  indifference, 

Than  to  love  thee  and  be  beloved  in  turn. 

But  for  this  Count,  if  he  can  prove  so  faithless 

As  to  forsake  his  fair  betrothed  for  thee, 

Why,  he  deserves  thee  ;  so  saints  grant  him  patience  ! 

Who  weds  Costanza  will  have  need  of  it !  [Exit. 


SCENE  III. 
A  street  in  Florence.     Enter  BUONDELMONTI  and  Rossi. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

WHY  didst  thou  shun  our  mirth  to-day  ? 
ROSSI. 

My  lord, 

As  I  was  hastening  to  the  river's  brink 
I  met  a  friend,  a  lady.     We  conversed 
Of  you  and  your  Erminia.     At  that  time 
Your  brilliant  train  passed  by,  and  she  besought 
I  would  escort  her  to  the  water's  edge, 
That  she  might  view  the  maid,  our  city's  boast. 
Could  I  refuse  her  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

No.     What  said  the  dame  ? 

ROSSI. 

She  said  what,  uttered  by  a  cavalier, 
And  thus  repeated,  would  bring  on  a  combat. 
She  vowed  she  had  a  daughter  fairer  far 


140  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Than  fair  Erminia,  and  thereupon 
Did  urge  me  to  her  dwelling,  that  my  eyes 
Might  judge  if  she  spoke  truth  ;  and  thus  it  is 
That  I  have  been  a  truant. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Who  is  she 

Who  robbed  me  of  my  friend. 
ROSSI. 

"She  is  the  widow 
Of  a  Donati. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Ay  ?     I  know  her  well ; 
A  cunning  dame  ;  I  warrant  me  she  spread 
This  snare  to  win  a  husband  for  the  maid. 
How  say  you,  friend,  will  you  too  wed  ? 
ROSSI. 

My  lord, 

The  maid  is  not  for  me  ;  she  is  designed 
For  one  far  higher. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Who  's  the  happy  man 
That  shall  possess  her  ? 

ROSSI. 

That  1  cannot  tell. 

But  he  should  be  as  great  as  Jupiter, 
And  have  the  world  within  his  glance  and  grasp, 
If  he  would  ask  a  fairer  bride. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Ah,  ha  ! 


ERMINIA.  141 


She  cannot  rival  mine.     Rossi,  you  smile, 
As  if  I  were  too  boastful.     By  the  gods, 
I  '11  see  the  lady  and  confound  your  judgment, 
Which  to  a  sun  compares  a  satellite  ! 
Come,  you  shall  guide  me. 

ROSSI. 

Faith,  not  I,  my  lord  ! 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Deny  so  slight  a  favor  to  a  friend  ? 

ROSSI. 

Shall  I  encounter  fair  Erminia's  frowns  ? 

Give  up  this  whim,  my  lord  ;  I  was  too  thoughtless, 

Knowing  your  giddy  humor,  in  repeating 

The  morn's  adventure.     Let  us  to  the  palace, 

And  woo  Erminia's  sunny  glance.     In  faith, 

She  '11  scarce  smile  on  you  if  you  play  the  truant 

Upon  this  day. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Nay,  I  'm  not  yet  enslaved, 
And  shall  make  free  to  borrow  so  much  time 
As  may  suffice  for  me  to  view  this  maid  ; 
For,  from  your  backwardness,  I  much  suspect 
That  you  have  left  your  heart  in  her  sweet  keeping. 
Say,  will  you  go  ? 

ROSSI. 
Indeed,  my  lord,  riot  I. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Well,  I  will  plead  your  cause. 


142  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


ROSSI. 

Give  o'er  this  whim. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Fie,  Rossi  !  jealousy  but  ill  becomes  thee. 

What  !  play  the  dragon  of  the  Hesperian  garden 

Ere  yet  the  fruit  is  yours  ?     I  am  resolved 

To  view  this  treasured  beauty  ;  so  adieu.  [Exit. 

ROSSI. 

You  have  well  proved  your  right  descent  from  Eve  ! 

But  I,  who  play  the  serpent  and  present 

This  fair  temptation  to  your  view,  may  fail 

To  win  the  paradise  from  which  I  lure  you. 

And  yet,  Erminia,  you  will  be  free, 

And  may  again  be  won  ;  so  with  that  hope 

I  must  content  myself,  till  time  shall  show 

If  Guido's  fickle  heart  be  wrought  upon 

According  to  our  scheme.     I  '11  after  him, 

Lest  some  unthought-of  hindrance  should  occur 

To  mar  the  widow's  wishes  and  my  own.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV. 

A  room  in  the  WIDOW  DONATI'S  house.     Enter  the  WIDOW 
and  BUONDELMONTI. 

WIDOW. 

MY  lord,  this  pleasure  's  great  as  unexpected  ; 
Your  presence  honors  me. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  143 


BUONDELMONTI. 

The  honor  's  mine, 
In  paying  duty  to  you,  noble  lady. 

WIDOW. 

I  should  congratulate  the  gallant  Count 
That  he  has  won  our  city's  fairest  maid 
To  share  his  rank  ;  although  I  must  lament 
That  my  own  hopes  are  blighted.     I  had  dared 
To  think  my  daughter  might  become  the  place 
Which  Buondelmonti's  dame  must  hold,  and  thus 
(Ah,  vainly  !)  I  reserved  her  hand  for  you. 
Let  me  present  her,  that  your  eyes  may  judge 
If  I  but  dreamed  her  charms  deserved  your  notice. 

[Exit  WIDOW. 
(Enter  Rossi.) 

ROSSI. 

Guido,  fly  !     O,  fly  ! 

Fall  not  into  a  snare  so  palpable  ! 

Thou  seest  the  dragon  of  th'  Hesperian  garden 

Gapes  to  devour  thee  ! 

BUONDELMONTI. 

But  the  memory 

Of  my  Erminia's  charms  will  prove  an  asgis 
To  ward  off  this  attack. 

ROSSI. 

Best  not  to  prove 

The  strength  of  thy  so-boasted  shield  too  far  ! 
Costanza  comes.     Rash  knight,  now  close  thine  eyes, 
Or  yield  thee  prisoner,  rescue  or  no  rescue  ! 


144  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


(Enter  WIDOW  and  COSTANZA.  ) 

WIDOW. 
Behold  the  maid  whom  I  reserved  for  you. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Have  I  been  cursed  with  madness,  that  I  deemed 
I  had  seen  beauty  ere  I  saw  Costanza  ? 
Thus  shone  the  Paphian  goddess  when  fierce  Mars 
Owned  the  keen  shaft  of  her  mischievous  boy  ! 
Since  you  have  deemed  me  worthy  of  her  hand,  [To  WIDOW. 
I  should  be  most  ungrateful  to  decline 
What  royalty  might  covet.   - 
ROSSI. 

So  !  't  is  done  ! 

Unto  what  saint  shall  I  erect  a  shrine 
For  this  achievement  ?  [Aside. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

To  Costanza.     Goddess  (for  I  dare  not 
To  call  thee  less,  and  cannot  call  thee  more), 
Thy  mother  hath  bestowed  thee  on  a  mortal, 
Who  prays  thee  to  confirm  the  precious  gift  ! 

COSTANZA. 

Must  I  descend  from  my  divinity 
To  be  a  mortal's  bride  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Diana  shunned 

The  gods,  yet  smiled  upon  Endymion  ; 
And  thy  great  prototype,  bright  Venus,  loved 
To  glide  from  high  Olympus,  and  to  rove 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  145 


With  young  Adonis  upon  earth.     Wilt  thou 
Affect  more  state  than  they  ? 
COSTANZA. 

Ah,  no,  my  lord  ! 

Conquered  like  them,  like  them  I  yield  my  heart, 
Trembling  lest  you  should  scorn  so  quick  a  triumph. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Venus,  thou  art  propitious  !     Love,  thy  lips 
Must  seal  the  bond  for  thy  heart's  truth. 
ROSSI  (as  if  going). 

My  friend, 
What  message  have  you  for  the  Amidei  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Stay,  Rossi,  stay  !     I  need  thy  cunning  brain. 
If  ever  thou  hast  loved  me,  aid  me  straight, 
By  moving  heaven  and  earth,  to  win  the  Pope 
To  grant  a  dispensation  from  the  rite 
Which  I  too  hastily  embraced  ! 

ROSSI. 

The  spell 

Works  wondrously  !     (Aside.)     Guido,  my  will  is  yours. 
But  I  must  have  more  close  instructions  ere 
I  stir  in  an  affair  so  grave. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

So  grave  ! 
Talk  I  of  murder,  Rossi  ? 

ROSSI. 

Ay,  of  that 
19 


146  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Which  may  lead  to  it  !     (Aside.)    Briefly,  this  affair 

Involves  two  parties  ;  Amidei  stands 

On  one  side,  setting  forth  his  daughter's  wrong ; 

I,  on  the  other,  pleading  for  remission 

Of  Buondelmonti's  contract.     How  think  you 

His  Holiness  decides  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

I  have  no  thought 

For  aught  beyond  my  bright  enchantress  here. 
Po  as  you  will !  —  Let  my  petition  reach 
The  Papal  throne  ere  Amidei's  plaint. 
Say  that  my  house  is  far  more  powerful, 
More  wealthy  far,  than  any  house  in  Florence, 
And  that  we  ever  have  confessed  his  claim 
To  Italy's  dominion.     Love  forefend  ! 
Methinks  I  'm  growing  politic  !     O,  haste  ! 
Block  up  all  avenues  to  his  Holiness, 
Until  my  suit  is  won  !     Spare  not  for  gold  ! 

ROSSI. 

With  all  the  haste  I  can,  still  Amidei 
May  reach  the  Papal  throne  in  time  to  mar 
His  Holiness'  consent  ;  unless  't  is  gained 
Before  the  injured  represent  their  cause, 
I  fear  that  you  will  be  compelled  to  make 
Your  contract  good. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Prometheus'  fate  be  mine, 
If  I  swerve  from  my  homage  to  this  maid  ! 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  147 


Nor  pope  nor  emperor  shall  bar  my  will  ! 
This  hour  I  '11  wed,  —  then  humbly  sue  the  Church 
To  grant  forgiveness.     Haste,  my  fairest  love, 
T'  assure  thy  subject's  happiness. 

COSTANZA. 

My  lord, 
I  'm  yours. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

My  heart's  great  empress  !     What  devotion 
Can  I  bestow,  to  thank  thy  swift  compliance 
With  my  rude  eagerness  to  call  thee  mine  ? 
Fortune  may  store  for  me  some  woman's  caprice, 
And  snatch  away  this  brightest  of  her  smiles 
With  the  same  haste  she  gave  it.     In  that  fear, 
I  will  not  quit  this  hand  till  it  is  mine 
Beyond  recall ;  nor  will  I  take  mine  eyes 
From  thy  fair  brow,  until  my  coronet 
Confine  those  flowing  locks  which,  in  rich  freedom, 
Stray  o'er  thy  graceful  neck,  and  enviously 
Strive  to  conceal  its  beauty. 

COSTANZA. 

Ah,  my  lord, 
How  dare  I  hope  this  mood  will  last  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

My  life 

Must  vanish  ere  I  cease  to  adore  thy  charms  ! 
Dare  I  ask  equal  love  from  thee  ? 
COSTANZA. 

My  life 


148  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Must  vanish  ere  I  cease  to  adore  —  thy  rank  !  [Aside. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Sweet  echo  !     Wiser  than  Narcissus  was, 
I  eagerly  embrace  the  matchless  treasure. 
Thou  'rt  robed  as  would  become  even  royalty 
Upon  the  bridal  day  ;  there  's  no  delay 
Need  interpose  between  us  and  the  altar. 

WIDOW. 

You  're  right  ;  the  bridal  must  not  be  postponed, 
Lest  some  untimely  interruption  hap. 
So  let  us  to  the  chapel,  where  with  speed 
The  marriage  shall  proceed,  whose  sacred  bond 
Cannot  be  lightly  shaken  off.     This  way  ! 

[Exeunt. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  149 


ACT    III. 

SCENE  I.     A  street  in  Florence.     Enter  Rossi. 

ROSSI. 

So  he  is  wedded,  and  cannot  retract, 

And  fair  Erminia  's  free  !     Now,  my  next  step 

Requires  more  wit, — more  caution,  delicacy. 

Shall  I  haste  to  the  lady,  and  inform 

Of  Buondelmonti's  treason  ?     Much  I  fear 

She  '11  hate  the  bearer  for  the  tidings'  sake. 

I  will  so  manage  to  be  in  her  presence 

When  the  ungrateful  news  first  meets  her  ear, 

Then,  feigning  ignorance,  I  will  espouse 

The  lady's  cause,  and  in  most  gallant  rage 

Threaten  to  pour  forth  Buondelmonti's  blood. 

Yet,  if  she  love  him,  she  will  scarce  feel  favor 

To  one  who  aims  at  his  dear  life  ;  but  since 

'T  will  be  for  her  sake,  woman's  vanity 

Will  plead  my  pardon.     O,  beshrew  my  wit  ! 

I  am  in  love,  which  makes  me  cowardly, 

Fearing  to  fix  my  choice  on  any  course, 

Lest  all  my  hopes  should  fall  there.     I  must  rest 


150  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


On  something  ere  the  storm  bursts  forth,  lest  I 
Should  be  esteemed  a  favorer  of  this  bridal, 
And  excommunicated  from  the  presence 
Of  her,  for  whom  alone  I  've  ta'en  the  pains 
To  aid  the  deep,  intriguing  Dame  Donati 
In  her  unmatched  essay.     I  '11  to  the  palace, 
And  then,  inspired  by  fair  Erminia's  eyes, 
Determine  on  my  future  course,  and  hope 
Shall  make  me  bold  in  my  nice  enterprise. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II. 
An  apartment  in  the  AMIDEI  palace.     Enter  LAMBERTI  and  UBERTI. 

TJBERTI. 

WHAT  means  this  heavy  cloud  upon  thy  brow  ? 
Why  are  thine  eyes,  but  late  cast  down  with  grief, 
Now  lighted  up  with  such  a  sullen  glare 
As  marks  Vesuvius'  gathering  wrath  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

My  friend, 

Dishonor  rests  upon  us.     Buondelmonti 

TJBERTI. 
Ha  !     What  of  him  ?     What  hast  thou  done  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

My  shame 

Is  that  I  have  not  done  as  you  suspect. 
Uberti,  know  that  the  false  Count  is  wedded,  — 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  151 


Wedded  within  the  hour  to  a  Donati  ! 

Flung  to  the  winds  are  all  the  lover's  vows, 

The  sacred  rites  profaned,  and  that  high  heart, 

Which  knew  no  weakness  save  in  loving  him, 

Is  trampled  on,  and  treated  with  such  scorn 

As  a  barbarian  Turk  might  cast  upon 

One  of  his  hundred  fawning  slaves  !     O  Heaven  ! 

UBERTI. 

And  lives  he  still  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

He  lives,  and  dreams,  perchance, 
Our  hearts,  like  his,  are  callous  to  the  claims 
Of  loud-voiced  honor  !     O  Erminia  ! 
Who  shall  repeat  the  story  of  thy  wrongs, 
And  wake  thine  ear  to  misery's  chilling  voice  ? 

UBERTI. 

Her  woe  doth  more  unman  you  than  your  own. 

LAMBERTI. 

Methinks  some  fiend  lurks  round  me,  dear  Uberti. 

The  thought  of  her  distress  distracts  me  ;  yet 

I  dare  not  search  my  heart,  lest  I  should  find 

More  joy  at  his  un worthiness,  than  grief 

For  her  who  suffers  by  it.     Down,  base  thoughts  ! 

Ye  are  unworthy  of  me  !     Counsel  me, 

How  shall  we  break  this  unexampled  act 

To  poor  Erminia  ?     Who  will  undertake 

So  hard  a  task  ? 

UBERTI. 
Her  father  ? 


152  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


LAMBERTI. 

Most  unfit  ! 

He  will  more  rave  at  th'  insult  to  his  house 
Than  at  his  daughter's  grief.     My  dear  Uberti, 
You  are  a  friend  and  kinsman  ;  let  this  task 
Devolve  on  you. 

UBERTI. 

No,  no  !     I  am  unfit 

To  be  misfortune's  herald.     My  wild  mood 
Erminia  knows,  and  she  will  surely  deem 
I  seek  to  put  a  cruel  jest  upon  her. 

LAMBERTI. 

Perhaps  young  Leonora  would  consent 
TJ  inform  her  friend. 

UBERTI. 

She  has  not  so  much  courage 
As  to  inform  Erminia  if  false  Guido 
Had  wounded  his  least  finger.     Ah,  Lamberti ! 
This  must  be  your  part. 

LAMBERTI. 

'T  is  impossible  ! 

O,  how  degrading  would  it  seem  for  me, 
A  slighted  lover,  to  be  first  to  sound 
My  favored  rival's  great  unworthiness  ! 
Erminia  comes,  and  with  a  glance  so  free 
From  every  shade  of  care,  that  't  were  as  well 
To  scatter  pestilence  on  the  pure  air, 
And  turn  that  first  of  blessings  to  a  curse, 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  153 


As  to  invade  her  peaceful,  happy  heart 

With  news  which  must  so  harshly  blight  its  joys. 

(Enter  ERMINIA,  LEONORA,  AMIDEI,  and  Rossi.) 
By  Heaven  !     Count  Guide's  shadow,  Rossi,  here  ! 
O  impudence  unparalleled  !  [Aside  to  UBERTI. 

ERMINIA  (to  LAMBERTI  and  UBERTI). 

My  friends, 

You  're  ever  welcome  !     Most  so  when  surprise 
Enhances  pleasure.     I  supposed  ere  this 
You  'd  left  fair  Florence  far  behind. 
UBERTI. 

Lady, 

Such  was  our  purpose  ;  unforeseen  events 
Make  us  again  your  guests. 

ERMINIA. 

Methinks  you  're  grave. 
My  Leonora,  have  you  frowned  on  him  ? 

AMIDEI. 

Perhaps  he  has  deserved  the  lady's  frowns, 
And  looks  thus  grave  from  the  rebuke  of  conscience. 

UBERTI. 

Granting  my  own  un worthiness,  I  still 
Must  wish  each  knight,  who  woos  a  lady's  favor, 
Were  constant  as  myself.     Fair  Leonora, 
Grant  me  a  moment's  audience. 

[LEONORA  and  UBERTI  converse  aside. 

AMIDEI    (to  ROSSI). 

Signer, 
20 


154  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Pray,  when  may  we  expect  the  noble  Count  ? 

ROSSI. 

Would  I  could  answer  you  !     We  parted  last 
Some  two  hours  since,  and  then  I  urged  him  much 
To  hasten  here  with  me  ;  but  he  replied, 
He  must  make  bold  to  borrow  so  much  time 
From  his  Erminia  as  would  suffice 
To  visit  a  fair  lady,  of  whose  charms 
A  loud  report  had  reached  him. 

ERMINIA. 

Say  you  so  ? 

Ah  !   Signer  Rossi,  in  your  glance  I  read 
That  you  would  gladly  rouse  my  jealousy. 
You  '11  find  my  vanity  impregnable  ; 
I  '11  even  dare  inquire  the  lady's  name, 
Who  interferes  with  my  prerogative 
Of  seeming  fair  in  Buondelmonti's  eyes. 

ROSSI. 
She  's  called  Costanza,  of  Donati's  house. 

LAMBERTI. 

Can  I  bear  this  !  —  Thou  parasite  of  him, 
Whom  in  this  presence  I  forbear  to  style 
As  he  deserves,  how  darest  thou  linger  here, 
Torturing  this  lady's  ear  with  thy  vile  taunts  ? 
Begone,  if  thou  wouldst  live  ! 
ROSSI. 

Ha  !  dost  thou  threat  ? 
Come  on  !   I  am  as  well  inclined  as  thou.  [Drawn. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  155 


ERMINIA. 

Lamberti,  are  you  crazed  ? 

LAMBERTI  (to  RoSSl). 

Vile  tool,  begone  ! 

I  cross  not  swords  save  with  the  principal 
In  this  foul  deed  ! 

AMIDEI  (to  LAMBERTI). 

Why,  nephew,  is  this  well  ? 
The  honor  due  to  me  should  save  my  guests 
From  open  insult. 

LAMBERTI. 

O,  your  pardon,  sir  ! 

Command  that  reptile  forth,  and  I  will  show 
The  reasons  of  my  actions. 

AMIDEI. 

Sure  you  're  mad  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

For  your  sake,  sir,  I  would  that  I  were  mad, 
And  ihat  the  motives  for  my  violence 
Were  but  the  monsters  of  a  heated  brain. 
When  he  goes  forth,  I  speak. 

AMIDEI  (to  Rossi). 

Forgive  me,  sir, 

That,  in  accordance  with  my  nephew's  wish, 
I  pray  your  absence.     This  so  rude  request 
Impute  not  to  inhospitality, 
But  my  anxiety  to  understand 
How  far  this  matter  doth  concern  me. 


156  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


ROSSI. 

Sir, 

I  am  your  servant.     Lady,  let  me  hope 
Some  future  day  to  justify  myself. 
For  you,  the  time  will  come [To  LAMBERTI. 

LAMBERTI. 

To  punish  thee  ! 

[Exit  Rossi. 

AMIDEI. 

Nephew,  explain  to  us  your  ill-timed  frenzy. 

LAMBERTI. 

Uberti,  aid  me  !     Leonora,  you 
Can  give  my  reasons  utterance.  — 

( They  decline  by  gesture. ) 

No  help  ? 

ERMINIA. 

Ah,  Leonora,  do  you  weep  ?     Speak,  speak 

This  mystery  !     Why  do  you  hesitate, 

And  gaze  on  me  with  such  embarrassed  eyes  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

And  must  I  be  th'  unwilling  instrument 

To  strike  Erminia's  heart  ?     Then  nerve  thyself 

As  if  I  were  thine  executioner  ! 

This  day  th'  indissoluble  marriage-bond 

Has  joined  Count  Guido  to  the  fair  Costanza, 

Whom  Rossi  named. 

ERMINIA  (after  a  pause). 

Must  I  believe  the  shaft 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  157 


Of  woe  can  have  been  winged  by  Guide's  hand  ? 

AMIDEI. 

Lamberti,  as  you  are  the  soul  of  honor, 
I  cannot  doubt.     Say  on. 

LAMBERTI. 

The  tale,  my  lord, 

Was  told  me  by  the  priest  that  wedded  them  ; 
A  holy  man,  who  shrank  with  grief  and  horror 
When  I  declared  the  former  rites.     From  him 
I  learned  that  Rossi  was  an  instrument 
In  this  foul  treachery. 

AMIDEI. 

So  this  stripling  dares 
To  trifle  with  the  honor  of  my  house  ! 
'T  were  safer  far  to  pluck  the  lion's  mane  ! 
Give  me  my  armor  !  —  I  've  not  borne  its  weight 
For  many  a  year,  but  now  I  '11  brace  it  on, 
And  wield  again  my  sword,  and  show  this  boy 
That  the  right  arm  which,  for  full  fifty  years, 
Hath  served  the  state  can  yet  maintain  my  honor  ! 

[Attempts  to  draw  his  sword,  but  fails. 
O,  I  am  old  !  my  wrath  is  impotent ! 
But  since  my  own  strength  fails  t'  avenge  my  wrongs, 
All  Florence  shall  arise  in  my  behalf ! 
What  !  sue  for  an  alliance  with  my  house  ! 
To  be  betrothed,  then  wed  with  another  ! 
If  to  the  basest  clown  the  city  owns 
He  had  shown  such  foul  scorn,  such  shameless  breach 


158  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Of  honor's  laws,  he  should  be  hooted  forth 
From  knighthood's  pale  ;  but  since  on  me,  on  me, 
This  outrage  vile  hath  fallen,  what  shall  atone, 
What  cleanse  my  tarnished  honor,  save  his  blood  ! 

ERMINIA. 
O! 

AMIDEI. 

Girl !  dost  thou  lament  ?     Aid  me  to  curse 
The  man,  who  dares  to  make  thee  such  a  mark 
For  the  keen  shaft  of  pity  and  of  scorn  ! 

ERMINIA. 

In  mercy  lead  him  hence  ! 

UBERTI. 

Signor,  I  pray  you, 

Retire  with  me.     We  will  consult  apart 
At  leisure  on  this  business. 

AMIDEI. 

O,  Uberti, 
This  is  a  fearful  stroke  ! 

[Exit,  supported  by  UBERTI. 

LEONORA. 

Her  stern,  fixed  gaze  affrights  me  !     O,  Erminia, 
Gaze  not  on  me  with  such  unearthly  eyes  ! 
I  cannot  stay  !     Say,  shall  I  call  her  women  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

No  !  let  no  menials  witness  this  distress, 
It  is  too  sacred  for  their  careless  gaze. 


ERMINIA.  159 


LEONORA. 

Such  misery  is  infectious  ;  let  me  summon 
Other  attendance. 

ERMINIA. 

No  !  no  other  eyes 
Must  view  my  agony. 

[Ecnt  LEONORA. 

LAMBERTI. 

Erminia  ! 

ERMINIA. 

What  would  Lamberti  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

Pardon,  dearest  lady, 
If  I  have  seemed  too  forward  in  inflicting 
This  wound  upon  thy  peace  ! 

ERMINIA. 

I  blame  thee  not  ; 

But,  from  the  weapon  that  achieved  the  blow, 
Look  to  the  hand  that  guided  it  !     O  Heaven  ! 
How  rudely  am  I  roused  from  happy  dreams  !  — 
Too  happy  to  be  true  !     O,  I  have  raised 
An  altar  of  idolatry  to  one 

Who  proves  mere  mortal,  and  am  justly  punished 
In  my  false  god's  desertion  !     But  the  fire 
Of  Italy's  best  days  is  in  my  breast  ; 
I  '11  dare  as  Rome's  proud  daughters  might  have  dared  f 
Lamberti,  as  I  silent  stood,  benumbed 
By  misery's  rude  shock,  dark  visions  rose 


160  ERMINIA. 


In  my  o'ertortured  brain  ! 

(Lamberti  kneels  and  presents  his  sword.) 
Ay,  even  so  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Lady,  I  am  thy  slave  ! 

ERMINIA. 

O,  be  my  friend, 
If  I  may  hope  for  truth  or  friendship  more  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Believe  that  truth  and  friendship  dwell  in  me  ! 
Erminia,  I  will  serve  thee  as  I  serve 
My  patron  saint !     I  swear  by  all  my  hopes 
Hereafter 

ERMINIA. 

Cease  !     Even  thus  false  Guido  swore  ! 
But  Heaven  records  the  perjury  !     As  he 
Dared  call  its  sacred  witness  to  his  words, 
So  will  it  witness  them  to  his  o'erthrow  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Heaven's  strength  is  in  my  arm  t'  avenge  thy  wrong  ! 

ERMINIA. 

But  an  hour  since  I  was  a  very  woman  ; 

I  never  dreamed  misfortune  could  reach  me  ; 

Love  reigned  within  my  untried  heart,  and  life, 

Swept  by  his  wing,  seemed  an  unfading  spring. 

The  scene  is  changed.     Young  Love  has  fled  away  ; 

His  smiling  eyes  no  longer  light  my  soul  ; 

But  anger,  shame,  and  fierce  revenge  now  dwell 


ER  M  I  N  I  A.  161 


Where  he  abode.     O  faithless  Buondelmonti ! 
Strong  as  my  fervent  love  is  now  my  hate  ; 
The  lion  in  the  toils  knows  not  more  fury 
Than  she  whom  late  thy  slightest  wish  could  lead, 
O  shame  !     O  shame  !     Would  that  Vesuvius 
Had  burst  upon  my  head,  ere  I  had  lived 
To  suffer  such  disgrace  !     My  father,  too,— 
O  gracious  Heaven,  let  not  this  cruel  blow 
Cut  short  his  honored  days  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Calm  thee,  Erminia  ! 

Even  for  your  father's  sake  you  must  repress 
The  passions  which  contend  within  your  heart. 

ERMINIA. 

Calm  !  calm  !  Lamberti  ?  —  But  why  should  I  seek, 
With  such  vain  lamentations,  to  express 
Unutterable  woe  ?     I  will  be  stern  ! 
Away  all  woman's  graces  from  my  face,  — 
All  smiles,  all  tenderness  !     I  will  unsex 
My  injured  heart,  and  on  my  brow  I  '11  stamp 
Such  lines  of  fierce  resolve  as  warriors  wear 
When  they  rush  forth  to  battle. 

(Enter  LEONORA.) 

LEONORA. 

O  my  friend, 
Haste  !   haste  !     Thy  father  dies  !     His  grief  and  rage 

Have  racked  his  feeble  frame 

21 


162  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


ERMINIA. 

My  father  dies  ? 
For  my  disgrace  he  dies,  and  yet  I  live  !  [Exit. 

LEONORA. 

Lamberti,  follow  us.     O,  vvoful  day  ! 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. 

A  chamber.     AMIDEI  discovered  on  a  couch.     LEONORA,  LAMBERTI, 
and  UBERTI  around  him. 

AMIDEI. 

MY  breath  is  fleeting  fast.     O  that  false  Count  ! 
?T  is  he  has  slain  me  !     Eighty  years  I  Ve  lived 
In  honor,  and  had  thought  so  to  have  died  ; 
But  Time,  who  so  long  spared  me,  now  demands 
Too  dear  a  price  for  his  long  grant  of  years,  — 
Even  my  honor,  which  my  nerveless  arm 
No  longer  can  defend. 

(Enter  ERMINIA.) 

ERMINIA. 

Father,  dear  father, 
But  live,  and  all  is  well  ! 

AMIDEI. 

Too  late  !     My  child, 
With  my  last  breath  take  my  last  legacy,  — 
The  charge  to  prosecute  my  just  revenge. 


ERMINIA.  163 


Look  to  it,  girl,  as  thou  wouldst  have  me  rest 
In  my  last  dwelling  ;  swear  thou  wilt  not  fail 
Nor  falter  in  the  task  !     Let  not  my  kin 
Forget  to  cleanse  the  honor  of  my  race 
In  the  deceiver's  blood  ;  swear,  as  thou  lov'st 
My  blessmg,  and  dost  dread  a  father's  curse  ! 

ERMINIA. 
Ah  !  dare  I  trust  myself  ? 

AMIDEI. 

So  cold,  so  blind  ? 

Dost  thou  deny  a  dying  father's  wish  ? 
Think'st  thou  my  soul  can  rest  ?     Think'st  thou  thy  life 
Can  pass  in  peace  the  while  my  murderer  stalks 
Unpunished  through  the  world  ?     Swear,  or  receive 
My  endless  curse  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Father,  I  yield,  I  swear  ! 
Forgive,  forgive  me,  for  I  am  distraught ! 

AMIDEI. 

Well  mayst  thou  be,  poor  child,  whose  every  hope 
One  day  hath  blasted  !     Ah  !   dark  shadows  close 
Around  my  eyes  ;  I  lose  thee  from  my  sight  ; 
Draw  near,  yet  nearer  ;  take  my  last  embrace 
And  blessing  !     Kinsmen,  be  ye  true  to  her  ! 
Adieu.     All 's  cold  ;  all 's  dark.     Death,  death,  thy  hand 
Is  on  me.     Mercy  !  —  Heaven  !  —  Erminia, 
Forget  not [Dies. 


164  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


ERMINIA. 

Father,  stay  !     My  only  friend 
For  ever  gone  !     O  Death,  be  merciful, 
And  take  a  wretch  who  in  one  hour  has  proved 
An  age  of  misery  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

O,  Leonora, 
Urge  her  to  quit  this  scene  ! 

ERMINIA. 

No,  leave  me  all. 

Here  let  me  weep  away  my  life,  for  here 
All  joy  in  it  has  vanished.     Father  !     O, 
Am  I  indeed  alone,  or  do  I  dream 
That  thou  hast  left  me  ?     Dread  reality  ! 
Wretched  Erminia,  death  indeed  is  here  ! 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  165 


ACT     IV. 

SCENE  I.     A  room  in  the  Amidei  palace.     ERMINIA  and 
LEONORA  discovered. 

ERMINIA. 

STILL  weeping,  Leonora  ?     Thou  mayst  weep  ; 
1  neither  can  nor  may. 

LEONORA. 

Tears  would  relieve 
Thy  aching  heart. 

ERMINIA. 

My  lamentation  's  made. 
Affection's  cries  break  not  th'  eternal  sleep  ; 
Her  tears  melt  not  the  icy  heart  of  death. 
Then  wherefore  should  I  mourn  ? 
LEONORA. 

I  never  dreamed 

Till  now  how  false  and  fatal  man  could  be. 
O,  should  Uberti  prove  so 

ERMINIA. 

Thou  wouldst  droop, 


166  ERMINIA. 


And,  like  the  tender  dove,  mourn  out  thy  life 
For  thy  lost  mate  ;  whilst  I  pay  scorn  for  scorn. 

LEONORA. 

Ah,  much  I  fear  it  hath  no  healing  power  ! 
Thy  hand  is  fevered,  and  thine  eye  still  wild. 
The  leech  requested,  when  you  were  more  calm, 
I  should  admit  him.     Say,  have  I  your  leave  ? 

ERMINIA. 

For  what  ?     That  he  may  search  in  my  weak  wrist 
For  the  strong  malady  within  my  heart  ? 

LEONORA. 
He  would  but  minister  a  composing  draught. 

ERMINIA. 

To  torture  me  with  drugs  !     I  '11  none  of  them  ! 
Perchance  he  knows  already  the  vile  cause 
Of  this  day's  misery,  and  with  prying  eyes 
Would  see  how  Amidei's  daughter  bears 
Her  deep  disgrace  ! 

LEONORA. 

O,  think  it  not,  dear  friend  ! 
Let  me  entreat  thee  rest  thy  wearied  frame, 
And  lose  these  racking  memories  in  sleep. 

ERMINIA. 

O,  never  shall  my  disenchanted  eyes 

Be  closed  again  in  love's  delusive  dream  ! 

Last  night  I  stood,  with  my  full  happiness 

Too  visibly  imprinted  on  my  brow, 

Amidst  a  crowd,  whose  every  murmur  breathed 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  167 


Of  love  and  praise  ;  —  to-day  a  mark  for  sneers, 

And  envious,  gaping  wonder  !     I  'm  no  saint, 

To  sit  and  weep  beneath  such  ignominy. 

Alas  !  alas  !   I  know  not  what  I  am, 

While  yet  that  traitor  lives,  — while  his  false  tongue 

Can  boast  my  fondness,  and  betray  with  mocks 

The  faltering  words  won  by  his  specious  vows, 

As  witnesses  of  sacred  love  and  faith, 

Breathed  but  to  him  and  Heaven  !     I  shall  go  mad  ! 

Haste  !  call  Lamberti ! 

(Exit  LEONORA.) 

Well  might  he  contemn 

The  fool  who  could  not  prize  his  peerless  worth, 
And,  when  she  might  have  mated  with  the  eagle, 
Bestowed  her  heart  upon  a  flutterer 
But  fit  to  sport  from  flower  to  flower,  and  wing 
In  search  of  novelty  his  reckless  flight. 
My  weakness  is  my  punishment  ;  my  heart, 
Bewildered  by  excess  of  love,  has  played 
The  sorcerer  with  my  brain,  displaying  all  things, 
Not  as  they  were,  but  as  I  fain  would  have  them. 
Yet,  cousin,  now  I  have  awaked,  thou  'It  find 
My  disenthralled  soul  can  soar  as  high 
In  honor's  daring  flight  as  can  thine  own. 

(Enter  LAMBERTI.) 

Welcome,  Lamberti ;  thou  alone  canst  fling 
One  ray  of  light  upon  my  gloom  :  I  sent 
To  thee  for  hope. 


168  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


LAMBERTI. 

Thy.  summons  met  my  wish. 
Our  kinsmen,  fired  with  generous  rage  and  shame, 
Shake  off  the  sloth  of  peace,  and  shout  "  Revenge 
For  Amidei's  wrongs  !  " 

ERMINIA. 

I  breathe  again ! 

LAMBERTI. 

This  night  the  heads  of  many  noble  houses, 

Allies  by  friendship  some,  and  some  by  blood, 

Assemble  to  confer  upon  this  insult. 

Erminia,  I  bade  them  meet  me  here, 

For  there  are  those  of  Amidei's  blood 

Who  urge  cold  arguments  of  policy 

Against  the  plea  of  honor  ;  that  their  lameness 

Should  not  infect  our  cause  I  call  them  here,  — 

Here,  where  thy  father's  corse,  in  mute  appeal, 

Joins  with  thy  living  agonies  to  rouse 

The  knightly  ardor  of  each  breast.     Wilt  thou, 

Should  I  esteem  it  needful,  nerve  thyself 

T'  attend  this  council  ? 

ERMINIA. 

Will  I  keep  my  oath 

To  Heaven,  the  honored  dead,  and  my  own  wrongs  ? 
Show  me  the  trial  which  I  will  not  meet 
Unshrinkingly  !     Thou  dost  not  know  me,  cousin. 
Last  eve,  'midst  pomp  and  revelry,  these  lords 
Thronged  round  the  happy  child  and  chosen  bride  ; 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  169 


To-night,  abandoned,  crushed,  and  fatherless, 
Thou  shalt  behold  me  sue  to  them  (if  chance 
They  need  the  spur  of  my  complaint) ,  nor  cease 
My  prayers  until  they  swear  to  cleanse  with  blood 
The  violated  honor  of  their  race. 

LAMBERTI. 

Most  wronged  of  maids,  let  them  be  true  or  false 

To  thy  racked  heart  and  to  thy  murdered  sire 

(For  Buondelmonti's  treachery,  though  not 

His  very  hand,  hastened  the  work  of  death) , 

My  hand  and  sword,  my  fortune  and  my  life, 

Are  pledged  to  thy  dear  service.     Rate  me  as 

Thy  bond-slave,  living  but  to  do  thy  will. 

To  me  existence  offers  but  one  charm,  — 

T'  avenge  thy  wrongs.     Would  that  my  heart's  best 

blood 

Might  have  averted  thy  deep  sufferings  ! 
It  had  been  freely  given  in  such  a  cause. 

ERMINIA. 

0  my  best  cousin  !   faith  and  pure  devotion 
Yet  live  in  thee,  and  soften  my  despair. 

1  cannot  thank  thee  ;  what  would  words  avail 
In  the  conflicting  passions  that  distract 

My  bursting  heart  ?     Yet  am  I  grateful. 

LAMBERTI. 

Nay, 
I  am  most  honored  that  Errninia  deems 

My  services  of  worth.     So  fare  thee  well  ; 
22 


170  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


For  twilight  ushers  in  the  gloom  of  night, 
And  with  the  night  our  friends. 

[Exit  LAMBERTI. 

ERMINIA. 

Farewell,  farewell, 

Thou  with  whom  fate  so  strangely  links  me  !  thou 
Whose  fondest  hopes  I  crushed  !     Now  on  thy  word 
And  will  my  all  of  earthly  hope  depends, 
Thou  greatly  generous  !     O,  why  is  truth 
A  gem  so  rare,  when  earth  without  its  light 
Becomes  a  hell  ?     Last  night  methought  that  light 
Had  found  its  home  in  Buondelmonti's  eyes, 
Whence  its  pure  rays,  like  angel-messengers, 
Brought  to  my  tranced  soul  such  gleams  of  joy, 
Earth  was  forgotten,  and  immortal  bliss 
Seemed  half-revealed  to  me.     Must  I  believe 
That  this  was  falsehood's  treacherous  glare  ?  —  believe 
Those  eyes  of  love  seek  other  eyes  than  mine 
For  answering  raptures  ?  —  that  the  lips  which  breathed, 
So  few  hours  since,  from  mine  the  virgin  kiss 

Of  love  and  faith  are  now My  heart  is  fire  ! 

Each  thought  a  torturing  fiend  !     My  senses  reel 

Beneath  th'  accursed  vision  !     O,  for  madness 

To  cloud  it  from  my  soul  !  —  It  will  not  be  ; 

Yet,  yet  must  I  endure.     Let  me  return 

To  the  pale  dead  for  strength  and  calmness  ;  chill 

My  throbbing  pulses  on  his  icy  breast  ; 

So  wait  my  evening's  torture.     Father,  I  come  !        [Exit. 


ERMINIA.  171 


SCENE  II. 

A  hall  hung  with  black.     Enter  LAMBERTI  and  UBERTI,  meeting. 

UBERTI. 
WELL  met,  my  friend.     How  fares  Erminia  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

Alas  !  so  young  in  stern  affliction's  school, 
Assailed  at  once  by  such  unequalled  horrors, 
'T  is  wonder  that  she  lives  :  and  yet  she  holds 
A  queenly  dignity  in  her  despair. 
I  dared  not  linger  near  her,  for  such  tears 
As  she  repressed  sprang  to  my  aching  eyes, 
Seeing  the  stifled  pangs  of  one  so  dear, 
Fatally  dear  to  me. 

UBERTI. 

Thy  constancy 
It  is  that  's  fatal. 

LAMBERTI. 

Say  not,  think  not  so  ! 
Speak  no  light  word  of  holy  Constancy,  — 
A  golden  halo  round  the  brow  of  Time  ; 
The  smile  of  Heaven  upon  the  love  of  earth  ; 
The  flame  that  purifies  all  low  desires, 
And  crowns  the  mortal  with  immortal  bliss. 
It  is  my  life  of  life  !     Endymion 
Ne'er  turned  his  eyes  with  ardor  more  sublime 


172  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Towards  the  gracious  Queen  of  Night,  than  I 
Towards  Erminia,  my  saint  on  earth. 

UBERTI. 

And  hath  Costanza  more  resplendent  charms 
To  tempt  Count  Guido's  change  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

Varying  and  vain, 

He  may  so  deem,  and  glory  in  his  guilt. 
Trust  me,  though  like  a  meteor  she  may  glow 
Along  a  summer  sky,  her  brilliancy 
Is  just  as  fleeting  as  the  meteor's  glare  ; 
A  thing  of  vanity,  caprice,  and  art, 
Her  false  smiles  snare  our  sex,  and  thus  to  her 
Our  dear  Erminia's  peace  is  offered  up. 
O,  never  was  more  barbarous  sacrifice 
Made  to  a  more  unholy  deity  ! 

(Enter  L.  AMIDEI  and  MANELLI.) 

L.    AMIDEI. 

How  sadly  this  funereal  gloom  contrasts 
With  last  night's  revelry  !     Is  this  the  hall 
Where  late  the  song,  the  dance,  the  joyous  laugh, 
Lent  to  Time's  wings  fresh  speed  ?     Heart-rending 

change  ! 

These  woful  draperies  rudely  usurp 
The  place  where  fragrant  flowers  and  dazzling  lights 
Charmed  every  eye,  and  in  stern  silence  show 
The  reign  of  mirth  is  o'er. 

LAMBERTI. 

Manelli  here  ? 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A .  173 


I  much  mistook  you,  sir,  and  deemed  you  'd  be 
The  last  to  join  our  solemn  conference. 
Your  pardon  for  the  thought  ;  believe  me,  friend, 
In  such  a  cause  I  'm  glad  to  be  in  the  wrong. 

MANELLI. 

'T  is  not  the  spot  that  one  would  wish  to  seek. 
These  trappings  quite  infect  me  with  their  gloom. 

TJBERTI. 

Shall  we  not  dye  them  of  a  brighter  hue  ? 

MANELLI. 

Aha,  Uberti  !  will  you  ever  jest  ? 

UBERTI. 

So  dull  ?     This  looks  not  well.     (Aside.)     Blood,  blood, 
I  mean. 

MANELLI. 

Ah  !   this  gallant  is  fierce.     I  forebode  mischief. 
How  fares  our  pretty  kinswoman. 

LAMBERTI. 

But  ill. 

MANELLI. 

Ay,  Amidei  was  a  doting  father. 
When  do  we  celebrate  his  obsequies  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

Not  till  we  Ve  read  his  dying  testament. 

(Enter  MALESPINI,  with  gentlemen  of  his  house.) 
L.    AMIDEI. 

The  Malespini  !     Welcome,  Signers,  all  ! 


174  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


MALESPINI. 

Thanks,  Amidei.     We  must  now  salute  you 
Chief  of  your  honorable  house. 

L.  AMIDEI. 

Not  yet. 

Let  me  defer  the  rank,  so  sadly  gained, 
Till  the  last  honors  are  bestowed  on  him 
From  whom  I  take  it.     Trust  me,  I  am  not 
So  avaricious  of  my  kinsman's  station, 
As  grasp  it  ere  he  lies  within  the  tomb. 
(Enter  FIFANTI,  attended.) 

LAMBERTI. 

Welcome  Fifanti  !     Is  your  heart  with  us  ? 

FIFANTI. 

My  heart  and  sword. 

LAMBERTI. 

I  hoped  no  less  from  you. 
MANELLI  (to  MALESPINI). 

A  word  with  you,  Signor.     These  youths,  I  see, 
Are  bent  on  mischief [Aside. 

LAMBERTI. 

Friends,  be  seated  all. 
He  who  last  night  so  blithely  welcomed  you 
No  longer  can  repeat  his  courteous  greeting  ; 
Yet  in  his  service  are  you  here,  and  I, 
As  being  to  his  love  and  to  his  blood 
So  near,  for  his  sake  bid  you  welcome. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  175 


FIFANTI. 

If  aught  you  have  in  charge  to  us  from  him, 
We  '11  gladly  hear  it.     Am  I  right,  Signers  ? 

ALL. 
Surely. 

LAMBERTI. 

He  named  me  not  his  orator, 
Knowing  me  readier  far,  if  there  were  wrong, 
To  right  it  with  my  hand,  than  prank  it  out 
With  eloquence  of  speech.     Each  one  of  us, 
I  trust,  bears  in  each  drop  of  noble  blood 
That  warms  his  veins  a  ceaseless  advocate 
In  honor's  cause. 

MALESPINI. 

Manelli,  hear'st  thou  that  ? 
He  's  coming  roundly  to  the  point.  [Aside. 

LAMBERTI. 

You  know 

How  near  the  insult  cast  upon  our  friend 
Touches  ourselves. 

MANELLI. 

We  understand  your  wish  ; 
Yet  pause  ere  you  involve  the  city's  peace 
In  deadly  feud.     The  rights  of  Holy  Church 
Have  been  assailed  ;  doubt  not  the  Papal  power 
Will  give  us  justice  when  our  wrong  's  made  known. 

LAMBERTI. 

O  Malespini,  canst  thou  counsel  thus  ? 


176  E  R  M  I  N  I  A . 


Sure  thou  art  gifted  with  a  saintly  patience  ! 

Why,  loud-voiced  Rumor,  with  her  hundred  tongues, 

Will  echo  our  disgrace  from  land  to  land  ; 

Our  foes  will  say,  "  Since  Florence  grows  so  tame, 

Well  may  we  hope  to  crush  her  boasted  strength  "  ; 

And  every  wretch  who  sinks  beneath  contempt 

Shall  be  called  "  Florentine." 

MALESPINI. 

Your  sneers,  my  lord, 
Affect  us  not.     For  Amidei's  sake 
You  claim  to  speak  ;  since  first  his  voice  was  raised 
In  council,  he  has  urged  to  amity 
By  word  and  deed. 

UBERTI. 

Not  purchased  by  disgrace  ! 
The  honor  of  his  house  was  to  his  age 
The  treasure  most  esteemed,  and  the  first  blow 
Aimed  at  that  jewel  crushed  the  feeble  spark 
Which  time  still  spared. 

LAMBERTI. 

Uberti,  hearken  here. 

[  Wtiispers.     Exit  UBERTI. 
FIFANTI. 

For  me,  I  blush  that  ever  Florentine 

Should  need  to  be  urged  on  t'  avenge  his  friend. 

What  !  is  there  some  infection  in  the  air 

That  chills  your  blood  thus  ?  for  I  cannot  think 

This  is  your  natural  mood.     O  good  Manelli, 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  177 


Lay  by  this  mail  of  caution  ;  it  is  cumbrous. 

MANELLI. 

So  hot-brained  youth  may  deem  it  ;  I  have  tried 
And  proved  its  worth  in  many  a  stormy  hour. 

L.    AMIDEI. 

O,  I  am  sick  of  such  a  wordy  strife  ! 

Would  that  some  foe  were  thundering  at  our  gates  ! 

It  would  be  seen  then  who  had  most  regard 

For  our  good  city's  safety  ;  those  whose  care 

Would  keep  their  bright  swords  bloodless,  lest  they  rust, 

Or  they  who  are  alive  to  honor's  laws 

And  love  the  clash  of  steel ! 

(Reenter  UBERTI,  leading  ERMINIA.) 

MANELLI. 

Erminia  here  ! 
What  may  this  mean  ? 

ERMINIA. 

Cousin,  do  not  rebuke 

My  presence,  though  unwelcome.     I  'm  not  wont 
To  overstep  my  sex's  privilege  ; 
Yet  fain  would  I  revive  my  sinking  heart 
By  your  bold  counsels. 

MANELLI. 

Noble  kinswoman, 

We  sorrow  with  you  in  your  heavy  loss, 
And  if  bold  counsels  could  restore  the  dead 
We  would  not  fail  you.     Let  us  therefore  hope 

You  come  to  help  us  curb  the  headstrong  rashness, 
23 


ITS  ERM1NIA. 


Which  would  add  wrong  to  \MY 
ERNIMA. 

H;.\ v  I  r.oi 
That  from  his  sacred  memory  this  disgrace 
Should  be  effaced  with  blood  ?     Within  my  soul 
There  is  a  strength  that  would  overthrow  a  world, 
Rather  than  vengeance  should  elude  my  grasp  ! 

MANKLLI. 

Fair  cousin,  this  is  frenzy. 

EBMIN1A. 

Would  it  were  ! 

And  yet  my  reason  tells  me  but  one  sun 
Hath  risen  and  set,  since,  in  this  very  hall, 
There  stood  a  maid  beset  with  flatterers  ; 
By  power,  rank,  wealth,  and  love  adorned,  she  was 
A  diuering  mark  for  moths  to  flutter  round. 
Quenched  are  those  lights  which  cast  their  splendor  o'er 

me  ! 

My  noble  lover  false  !     My  father  dead  ! 
Am  I  that  same  Erminia  ?     Are  you  they 
Who  yesterday  were  proud  to  do  me  homage  ? 

FIFANTI. 

Sweet  lady,  heed  them  not,  for  we  are  sworn 
To  uphold  thy  cause,  despite  their  coldness. 

ERMINIA. 

Thanks  ! 

I  know  ye  true,  but  still  I  must  lament 
That  in  so  many  here  the  noble  blood 


£  K  M  I  N  f  A  .  170 


Is  quite  dried  up  by  warm  prosperity, 
Or  lies  so  stagnant,  that  't  is  mantled  o'er 
With  such  a  scum  of  cowardice  and  caution 
At  fickens  the  beholder.     You,  8ignor, 

[To  one  of  the  MALESPINI. 

ft.  was  who  swore,  while  sun  and  moon  and  stars 
Held  on  their  course,  you  were  my  faithful  servant. 
'T  is  some  few  hours  since  I  have  looked  abroad  ; 
I  know  not  how  the  planets  may  have  moved  ; 
But,  as  I  dare  not  to  impeach  your  honor, 
I  must  believe  that  ;jll  the  hosts  of  heaven 
Have  wandered  from  their  spheres.     I  'd  rather  think 
Such  portents  were  abroad,  than  doubt  your  word. 

GENTLEMAN. 

Lady,  you  do  me  right  ;  my  sword  is  yours. 

OTHERS. 

And  mint;  !     And  mine  ! 

O  gentlemen,  all  thank.  ! 

MANELLI. 

You  cannot  dream  the  dangers  you  invoke  ! 

ERMINIA. 

My  dreams  are  of  dishonor.     O,  if  they 

Who  poison  in  the  earth  the  healthful  springs 

Of  life-bestowing  moisture,  that  each  wretch 

Who  drinks  must  fall  a  bloated,  loathsome  corse,  — 

If  they  must  stand  accursed,  what  merits  he 

Who  taints  the  heart's  pure  springs,  —  whose  venom  glides 


180  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Unseen,  yet  deadly,  through  each  quivering  nerve  ? 
O'er  every  sense  dark  clouds  of  horror  roll, 
And  pleasure,  peace,  and  hope  at  once  expire  ! 
Aghast  the  shivering  soul  beholds  her  doom  ; 
The  past  is  agony,  the  future  dread  ; 
The  present  living  death  !     I  am  a  wretch 

So  racked,  so  blasted O,  the  lowest  fiends 

May  revel  in  their  ceaseless  flames,  and  shout, 
That  earth  holds  one  more  tortured  far  than  they  ! 
This  lord  or  I  must  fall.     Resolve  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

We  are  resolved. 

Submission  to  this  wrong  were  endless  shame. 
Blood,  only  blood,  can  cleanse  the  scornful  outrage. 
Alone  would  I  maintain  this  cause,  but  here 
Good  knights  and  true  array  themselves  with  me. 

MALESPINI. 

These  transports  wrong  us  much  :  we  're  true  as  those 
Who  noise  their  friendship  by  the  clash  of  swords. 
We  would  reflect,  ere  haste  to  sow  dissension 

L.    AMIDEI. 

Dissension  has  been  sown,  is  grown,  and  ripened, 
And  we  would  have  it  reaped. 

MANELLI. 

Yet  pause  :  no  house 
So  powerful  in  Florence  as  this  lord's  ; 
None  counts  allies  so  numerous  and  so  strong. 
This  is  no  question  of  a  private  vengeance, 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  181 


Or  private  feud  ;  the  peace  of  Florence  hangs 
On  your  decision  ;  the  first  blow  you  aim 
Looses  the  horrors  of  intestine  war 
Upon  our  state. 

LAMBERTI. 

This  insult  unredressed, 

We  all  become  a  mark  for  scorn.     Who  knows 
Where  next  the  shaft  of  discord  may  alight  ? 
Look  to  yourselves,  my  lords,  — ye  who  invite 
Contempt,  —  and  see  your  household  sanctity 
Invaded,  and  your  daughters'  peace  a  jest  ! 
Beware  of  such  an  end  ! 

L.    AMIDEI. 

Will  ye  unite 

In  fair  Erminia's  cause,  or  give  your  swords 
To  this  false  knight,  and  turn  their  hostile  points 
Against  your  kinsmen  ?  —  for  full  well  ye  know 
There  is  no  neutral  course.     Choose,  choose,  my  lords  ! 

GENTLEMEN    OF    THE    HOUSES    OF    MALESPINI    AND    MANELLI. 

Our  choice  is  made  !     Our  hearts  and  swords  are  pledged 
To  Amidei  and  Erminia  ! 

EEMINIA. 

O  gentlemen,  all  thanks  !     Now  can  I  hie 
Back  to  the  chamber  of  the  honored  dead, 
Resume  my  mournful  watch,  calm  in  the  faith 
That  reparation  waits  his  sacred  shade. 
Farewell !  the  saints  watch  over  ye  ! 

[Exit  ERMINIA. 


182  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


ALL. 

Farewell  ! 

MANELLI. 

Ah,  't  is  a  grievous  plight  !  but,  since  the  deed 
Is  now  resolved,  I  would  to  Heaven  't  were  done. 

LAMBERTI. 

They  who  would  see  an  enterprise  concluded 
Must  first  commence  it. 

FIFANTI. 

When  shall  ours  commence  ? 

L.    AMIDEI. 

To-morrow  's  Easter-day.     Here  meet  we  then, 
To  pay  our  hapless  kinsman  the  last  dues 
Earth  claims  from  earth.     Then  will  we  name  the  hour 
Of  our  revenge.     Till  then,  Signers,  adieu  ! 

[Exeunt  severally. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  183 


ACT    V. 

SCENE  I.     The  chapel.     ERMINIA,  LEONORA,  LAMBERTI, 
L.  AMIDEI,  FIFANTI,  and  UBERTI  discovered. 

ERMINIA. 

'T  is  finished  !     From  my  eyes  for  ever  hid 

Is  my  sole  earthly  friend  !     I  am  alone  ! 

Dear  father,  never  more  thy  voice  of  love 

Shall  welcome  me  each  morn  to  happy  days  ! 

No  more  when  night  returns  wilt  thou  pronounce 

Thy  sacred  blessing  on  Erminia's  head  ! 

O  had  I  never  loved  but  thee,  my  sire, 

Thou  hadst  not  left  me  thus  !     I  am  chastised 

In  thy  deep  loss,  for  seeking  happiness 

Beyond  a  parent's  pure  devotion,  and 

For  sharing  with  another  the  fond  heart 

Whose  every  thought  should  have  been  only  thine  ! 

LEONORA. 

Dear,  dear  Errninia,  give  thy  sorrows  rest  ! 
Peace  is  with  him  thou  mournest ;  on  that  thought 
Repose  thy  harassed  soul.     Thou  art  unjust 
For  grieving  o'er  thy  father  ;  thou  forgett'st 


184  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


That  from  a  brighter  sphere  he  still  regards  thee, 
Freed  from  the  weight  of  dull  mortality. 

ERMINIA. 

O  what  has  grief  to  do  with  reason  ?     They 
Are  stubborn  foes,  and  cannot  dwell  together  ; 
For  grief  in  her  strong  frenzy  brooks  no  rival. 
And  rudely  overthrows  calm  reason's  seat, 
And  reigns  alone.     O  mock  me  not  with  reason, 
But  aid  me  to  lament,  and  lend  me  tears, 
For  there  is  such  a  fire  within  my  brain 
As  doth  forbid  my  aching  eyes  to  find 
Relief  in  weeping  !     O,  I  know  no  hope 
Save  in  grim  Death,  and  he  is  treacherous, 
And  answers  not  my  call  ! 

LEONORA. 

I  '11  weep  with  thee, 
And  for  thee,  hapless  friend  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Oceans  of  tears 

Could  not  allay  my  anguish  !     Memory 
Will  not  be  drowned  till  life  is  swept  away 
By  time's  devouring  flood  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Look  on  thy  friends  ; 

Nor  vex  their  tenderness  with  thy  wild  grief. 
Could  thy  sire's  accents  penetrate  the  cloud 
Which  screens  the  immortal  from  the  mortal  world, 
Would  he  not  bid  thee,  even  for  his  love, 
Forego  thy  mournful  plaint  ? 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  185 


ERMINIA. 

O,  no  !  O,  no  ! 

He  would  not  be  so  treacherous  to  himself. 
O,  no  !     He  bids  me  haste  to  him  and  hide 
My  grief  and  shame  in  his  protecting  arms. 
He  doth  reproach  me,  that  I  still  can  live, 
When  he,  who  gave  me  life,  hath  died  for  me. 
Ah,  never  can  I  cease  to  call  on  death, 
Till  the  grim  tyrant,  wearied  with  my  cries, 
Shall  rid  him  of  my  importunity 
By  chaining  me  within  my  father's  tomb  ! 

LEONORA. 
O,  rave  no  more,  Erminia  ! 

ERMINIA. 

Call  me  not 

By  that  name  longer  ;  for  Erminia  was 
All  love,  all  joy,  all  pride,  and  happiness, 
All  trusting  fondness  and  unwavering  faith  ! 
But  in  my  heart  a  host  of  fiends  have  risen  ; 
Shame,  wrath,  revenge,  despair,  —  infernal  tempters,  — 
With  scorpion  stings  destroy  each  gentler  guest. 

UBERTI. 

Be  it  our  care  to  soothe  thy  pangs.     Believe 
That  hope  again  shall  dawn  for  thee,  and  chase 
Far  from  thy  heart  these  perilous  griefs.     Have  pa 
tience  ! 
For  here  stand  thy  avengers,  —  thine  to  death. 

We  four  are  chosen  by  our  partisans 
24 


186  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


To  immolate  the  foe,  whose  perfidy 
Hath  made  thee  fatherless. 

ERMINIA. 

O  treacherous  Guido  !    [Faints. 

LEONORA. 

Aid  me  !     Erminia  dies  !     Lamberti,  help  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Wait  for  me,  friends,  while  to  her  couch  I  bear 
This  lovely  victim.      Such  a  sight  must  make 
The  angels  lend  their  voices  to  our  cause  ! 

[Exeunt  LAMBERTI,  LEONORA,  and  ERMINIA. 

FIFANTI. 

My  sword  already  rattles  in  its  sheath, 
Impatient  to  avenge  her. 

L.  AMIDEI. 

Guide's  blood 

Will  cleanse  the  stain  from  Amidei's  shield  ; 
But  what  shall  heal  the  crushed  and  bleeding  heart 
Of  the  betrayed  ?     She  seems  no  more  like  one 
Whose  home  is  earth  ;  but  ere  her  spirit  mounts 
To  the  bright  realms  of  peace,  his  howling  soul 
Shall  find  its  guerdon  in  the  realms  below  ! 

FIFANTI. 

When  shall  we  forth  ? 

UBERTI. 

Lamberti  has  the  charge 
To  choose  the  hour  and  place  of  retribution. 
(ReSnter  LAMBERTI.) 


ERMINIA.  187 


LAMBERTI. 

To-day,  if  ever,  let  our  vengeance  burst. 
Heavy  and  sure,  upon  the  offender's  head. 
To-day,  I  learn,  he  thinks  to  cross  the  bridge, 
And  pass  this  house.     The  blinded  traitor  dreams, 
Perchance,  that  heaven  and  earth  forget  his  crime. 

UBERTI. 

O,  never  must  he  see  these  portals  more  ! 
Never  must  his  insulting  glance  be  raised 
Towards  these  walls,  whose  very  stones  cry  out 
Against  his  guilt  !     Ere  he  hath  crossed  the  bridge 
He  dies  !     Beneath  the  statue  of  fierce  Mars 
We  will  assail  him  :  with  his  forfeit  life 
Our  shame  shall  vanish  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

And  the  perjurer's  blood 
Rush,  a  libation  to  the  ruthless  Mars, 
Beneath  whose  frown  he  falls.     O,  may  the  reign 
Of  falsehood  ever  be  as  short  as  his  ! 
Ye  are  prepared,  my  friends  ? 

L.    AMIDEI. 

We  are.     Lead  on. 

[Exeunt. 


188  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


SCENE  II. 

A  chanitter.     ERMINIA  discovered  alone. 
ERMINIA. 

I  SEEM  awakening  from  a  fearful  dream  ; 

My  brain  's  benumbed  ;  a  dim,  oppressive  sense 

Of  evil  clouds  my  thoughts.     Where  have  I  been  ? 

What  horrors  seen  and  heard  ?     Let  me  recall 

The  past  again  ;  for  since  the  fatal  hour 

When  to  my  startled  ear,  like  a  death-trump, 

Came  Guide's  perfidy,  passion  hath  burst 

From  reason's  guiding  hand.     What  have  I  done, 

What  said,  what  sworn,  in  my  insensate  course  ? 

How  blindly  sought  to  quench  the  fires  of  pride 

And  jealousy's  hot  stings  with  cold  disdain 

And  unrelenting  vengeance  !     Bootless  strife  ! 

Mine  is  no  Fury's  heart.     The  smothered  strength 

Of  love  revives  !     And  I  have  sought  his  death 

Who  was  my  life  !     O,  were  it  not  a  crime, 

I  should  say  is,  —  and  yet  but  little  crime, 

For  little  span  of  life  remains  to  me  ! 

False  though  he  be,  what  power  condemns  my  truth  ? 

O,  let  me  bear  that  with  me  to  the  tomb, 

Sole  treasure  of  my  early  blighted  hopes  ; 

And  rather  let  me  die  in  gentle  sorrow, 

Than  live  the  cherisher  of  unholy  rage  ! 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  189 


O,  welcome,  heavenly  light,  whose  dawn  illumes 
My  wayward  course  !    best  comforter,  thy  rays 
Have  banished  my  despair  ;  for  innocence 
May  hope  that  Time's  consoling  hand  will  bring 
Peace  upon  earth,  and  point  to  rest  in  heaven  ; 
But  where,  O,  where  shall  guilt  repose  ?  where  hide 
When  conscience  wakes  ?     O,  happier  the  betrayed 
Than  the  betrayer  !     Yet  I  sought  his  life,  — 
Death's  seal  on  my  own  brow,  within  my  heart 
His  rankling  arrow  !     And  although  't  was  aimed 
By  Guido's  hand,  th'  almighty  surnmoner 
Must  first  have  given  the  mandate.     Must  I  go 
With  blood  upon  my  soul  ?     Have  mercy,  Heaven  ! 
Father,  my  oath  hangs  heavy  on  my  heart ! 
O  Virgin  Mother,  counsel  me  !     Which  way 
Shall  I  undo  what  I  have  done  ?  restrain 
The  passions  I  have  spurred  ?     What  said  Uberti 
Of  my  avengers  ?     Ah,  perhaps  even  now 
They  are  about  this  deed  !     Is  there  no  help  ? 
Yes,  I  will  fly  to  save  !  —  Alas,  I  shrink  !  — 
O  woman's  pride,  where  art  thou  ?     In  the  dust 
Bow  thy  repentant  head  !     Away,  away, 
All  mean  regards  !     Shall  mortal  weakness  stand 
'Twixt  me  and  Heaven  ?     Here,  Leonora,  haste  ! 
(Enter  LEONORA.) 

LEONORA. 

What  would  my  friend  ? 

ERM1NIA. 

Where  are  those  gentlemen  ? 


190  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


LEONORA. 

Gone. 

ERMINIA. 

Whither  ? 

LEONORA. 

Why  these  questions  ? 

ERMINIA. 

Palter  not ! 

A  life,  a  soul,  hangs  on  thy  word  !     How  pale 
Thou  art  !     Speak  !  speak  ! 

LEONORA. 

Towards  the  bridge. 

ERMINIA. 

And  with  what  purpose  ? 

LEONORA. 

Whence  this  new  distraction  ? 

ERMINIA. 

It  is  too  plain  !     O  Time,  be  merciful  ! 

LEONORA. 
Stay  !  thou  art  mad  ! 

(Exit  ERMINIA.) 

Stay  !     I  will  follow  thee  ! 

[Exit  LEONORA. 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  191 


SCENE  III. 

A  bridge  upon  the  ARNO.     At  one  extremity  a  statue  of  MARS. 
Enter  BUONDELMONTI  and  Rossi. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

SEE  !   we  approach  my  former  love's  abode. 
Think'st  thou  she  weeps  for  me  ? 

ROSSI. 

My  lord,  she  weeps 
A  truer  friend  ;  to-day  the  funeral  rites 
Are  paid  to  Amidei. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Paid  to  whom  ? 

ROSSI. 

Her  father. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

He  was  well  but  y ester-morn. 

ROSSI. 

Thou  shouldst  know  well  as  any  how  great  change 
Short  time  effects  ;  't  was  yesterday  he  died. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

And  why  have  I  not  heard  it  ? 

ROSSI. 

'T  was  not  well 
To  cloud  your  bridal  day  with  news  of  death. 


192  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


BUONDELMONTI. 

Know  you  his  illness  ? 

ROSSI. 

Rage  and  shame,  my  lord, 
At  your  defection. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Peace  !  it  could  not  be  ! 
Yet  he  was  old,  and  loved  his  daughter  well. 
I  '11  order  masses  at  Saint  Stephen's  church 
For  his  repose.     Methinks  his  obsequies 
Are  strangely  hurried.     But  what  dusky  forms 
Are  now  emerging  from  the  palace  ?     Look  ! 

ROSSI. 

Doubtless  his  kinsmen  and  our  foes.      Should  they 
Espy  us  here,  they  will  not  spare  us. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Pshaw  ! 
Too  long  we  loiter.     Let  us  on,  my  friend. 

ROSSI. 

Past  Amidei's  mansion  ? 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Wherefore  not  ? 

ROSSI. 

Nothing  ;  save  that  upon  this  day  't  were  best 
To  avoid  a  quarrel. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

I  neither  seek  nor  shun  it. 
'T  is  theirs  to  choose  ;  theirs  be  the  shame.     We  '11  see 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  193 


Who  dares  to  brave  a  feud  with  Buondelmonti  ! 
(Enter  LAMBERTI,  UBERTI,  L.  AMIDEI,  and  FIFANTI.) 

LAMBERTI. 

Behold,  Lamberti  dares  it  ! 

L.    AMIDEI. 

Amidei  ! 

UBERTI. 

Uberti  and  Fifanti  ! 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Four  'gainst  two  ! 

Thanks,  gentlemen  ;  you  pay  tribute  to  our  prowess. 
Say,  Signer  Rossi,  shall  we  quit  this  debt  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

Not  so,  my  lord.     Your  second  must  give  place. 
We  understand  him,  and  my  friends  will  guard 
Against  his  treachery.     You,  sir,  are  known 
A  gentleman  of  knightly  skill,  and  valor 
Full  often  proved.     Essay  that  skill  and  valor 
Against  my  sword,  —  a  weapon  not  untried. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Most  willingly,  and  thanks.     But  in  what  cause  ? 

LAMBERTI. 

Thou  hast  wronged  a  lady  who  deserves  all  honor, 

And  hurried  to  the  grave  a  noble  lord, 

Long  spared  by  time  to  aid  his  country's  councils  ; 

But  spared,  alas  !  for  a  new  foe,  disgrace, 

He  fell  beneath  its  touch  into  that  tomb 

Upon  whose  brink  so  long  he  'd  feebly  wandered. 
25 


194  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


Draw,  villain  !   draw  !   and,  if  thou  canst,  defend 
Thy  worthless  life  ! 

BUONDELMONTI. 

Villain  to  me,  Lamberti ! 
Methinks  thou  'rt  zealous  to  avenge  the  maid 
Whose  smiles  you  vainly  sought.     Perhaps  they  '11  prove 
The  promised  guerdon  of  thy  chivalry. 

LAMBERTI. 

Base  railler,  draw  !     I  would  not  murder  thee. 
The  hangman's  hands  were  fitter  far  to  end 
Thy  hated  life  than  honorable  steel. 

[They  fight,  and  BUONDELMONTI  falls. 

BUONDELMONTI. 

My  punishment  is  just !     Erminia's  wrongs 
Required  this  retribution.     Ah,  she  comes 
To  triumph  in  her  vengeance  !     Haste  thee,  death, 
Lest  her  eye  give  a  wound  far  more  severe 
Than  her  avenger's  sword.  [Dies. 

(Enter  ERMINIA  and  LEONORA.) 

ERMINIA. 

O  Heaven  !  too  late  ! 
(Enter  the  WIDOW  DONATI  and  COSTANZA.) 

WIDOW. 

What  bloody  scene  is  here  ? 

COSTANZA. 

My  husband  !  —  slain  ! 

LAMBERTI. 

Thy  husband,  siren  !     Ay,  thine  even  in  death  ! 


E  R  M  I  N  I  A  .  195 


For  ye  must  meet  in  those  dire  realms  below, 
Where  perfidy  receives  its  hideous  doom. 
Gaze  on  the  triumph  of  thy  vanity  ! 
For  this  shall  Florence  curse  thy  memory 
Through  years  of  furious  war. 
WIDOW. 

O,  let  thy  tongue 

Curse  me  alone  !  but  tenfold  curses  rest 
Upon  thy  murderous  hand 

LAMBERTI. 

Vain  woman,  peace  ! 

Erminia,  let  me  lead  thee  hence  ;  thou  seest 
Thy  wrongs  effaced.     Come  !     Heavens,  thou  faintest  ! 

ERMINIA. 

No! 

LAMBERTI. 

Let  me  support  thee  ;  come  ! 

ERMINIA. 

I  cannot  hence  !  — 

Not  yet.     Let  me  behold  his  face  once  more  ! 
My  father,  frown  not  on  me  !     Thou  'rt  obeyed, 
E'en  to  the  brink  of  everlasting  woe  ! 
And  now  away  each  vain  disguise  !     Away, 
Thou  demon,  pride,  that  in  thy  serpent  folds 
Wouldst  crush  my  heart !     Come  pity,  scorn,  disgrace, 
I  brave  ye  all  !     Here,  where  I  should  have  lived, 
Here  let  me  die  !     Guido,  return,  return  ! 
Thou  hear'st  not,  seest  not,  know'st  not  my  despair. 


196  E  R  M  I  N  I  A  . 


But  Heaven  is  merciful  !     My  veins  are  chilled, 

My  limbs  benumbed  to  marble  !     On  my  lip 

I  feel  death's  icy  breath,  —  O,  breath  of  paradise 

To  my  sick  heart  !     All  things  below  fade  from  me,  — 

But  there  —  above Stay,  Guido,  stay  !     I  come  ! 

[Dies. 

LAMBERTI. 

Most  loved  and  most  deplored  of  Tuscan  maids, 
Ne'er  shall  the  heavy  cause  of  so  much  woe 
Sink  to  oblivion,  but  late  happy  Florence 
With  tears  of  blood  commemorate  thy  doom  ! 


THE  NEW  WORLD. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


HERNANDO  DE  GUEVARA,      .     .     A  young  Spanish  Noble, 

\  Chief  Judge  of  the  Island 
FRANCISCO  ROLDAN,    .     .     .      < 

[_     of  Hayti)  or  Espanola. 

ADRIAN  DE  MOXICA,    ~j 

DIEGO  DE  ESCOBAR,       >       ,     .  Adherents  of  Roldan. 

PEDRO  REGUELME,        J 

BEHECHIO, Cacique  of  Xaragua. 

ANACAONA, Sister  to  JBehechio. 

ALANA, Her  Daughter. 

Train  of  Xaraguan  Maidens.     Spaniards.     Indians. 
The  SCENE  is  in  the  Province  ofXaraguat  in  tfte  Island  of  Hayti. 


THE   NEW  WORLD. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE   I.     A  grove  before  ROLDAN'S  dwelling.     ROLDAN , DE 
ESCOBAR,  DE  MOXICA,  REGUELME,  and  other  Spaniards. 

ROLDAN. 

AT  length,  my  friends,  our  triumph  is  complete  ! 
In  yielding  we  are  conquerors  !     Colon 
No  longer  dares  oppress  the  sons  of  Spain, 
But,  awed  by  our  resistance  to  his  sway, 
Resigns  his  hope  t'  enslave  us.     Here  behold 
The  treaty  which  our  firmness  has  obtained  ! 
The  Admiral  empowers  me  to  resume 
My  office  of  chief  judge  ;  restores  my  lands  ; 
Grants  me  extensive  tracts  within  this  province, 
With  slaves  to  till  the  soil.     For  you,  my  friends, 
Whose  loyal  aid  enabled  me  to  hold 
The  viceroy  thus  at  bay,  I  have  required 
As  just  conditions  ;  —  liberal  grants  of  land, 
And,  'stead  of  tribute  from  the  native  chiefs, 
It  is  arranged  that  parties  of  their  subjects, 

At  stated  times,  shall  aid  to  cultivate 
26 


202  THE    NEW    WORLD. 

The  soil  allotted  to  you.     On  these  terms 

We  are  agreed  to  lay  aside  our  arms, 

And  rest  content  beneath  the  viceroy's  rule. 

REGUELME. 

Noble  Alcalde,  let  us  here  repeat 
Our  former  vows  of  fealty  !     To  you 
We  owe  our  freedom  !     When  the  Admiral, 
Departing  for  Spain's  shores,  gave  to  his  brothers, 
Without  authority  from  Ferdinand, 
The  government  of  Hayti,  you  it  was 
Descried  the  bonds  they  wished  to  rivet  on  us, 
And  roused  us  to  resistance.     Led  by  you 
We  still  have  triumphed.     Here  let  each  renew 
Thanks  for  the  past  !     Let  all  here  bend  the  knee, 
Tendering  their  vows  of  future  faith  !     Alcalde, 
Receive  my  homage  !  [All  kneel. 

EOLDAN. 

Thanks,  my  noble  friends  ! 
Roldan  is  not  ungrateful,  and  by  deeds 
Would  show  his  sense  of  favor.     I  appoint 
Reguelme  the  Alcalde  of  Bonao. 

REGUELME. 

Alcalde,  you  overwhelm  me  by  thus  adding 
New  benefits  to  those  before  conferred. 
Your  gifts  make  me  your  slave. 
ROLDAN. 

My  valued  friend  : 
Ever  remain  so.     For  you,  Escobar, 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  2Q3 


And  De  Moxica,  and  all  others  here 
To  whom  I  owe  support,  the  Admiral 
Has  portioned  out  your  lands  within  this  province  ; 
No  lovelier  spot  on  earth  has  e'er  been  found  ; 
None  worthier  to  be  the  soldier's  home. 
Here  will  we  rest  us  from  the  toils  of  war, 
Secure  from  care  ;  here  all  is  peace  and  joy. 
Nature  with  lavish  hand  bestows  her  gifts  ; 
Let  us  enjoy  them,  and  forget  the  world 
That  lies  beyond  these  valleys. 
ALL. 

Live  Roldan  ! 
His  will  is  ours  ! 

ROLDAN. 

My  friends,  your  generous  faith 
Is  dearer  far  than  all  the  glittering  wealth 
This  Western  world  can  give.     If  tyranny 
Should  dare  again  uprear  her  serpent  head, 
Roldan  is  yours  to  crush  again  the  foe. 
Will  't  please  you  now  retire  ?     Ere  long  we  '11  meet 
For  further  council.     You,  De  Escobar, 
Remain  with  me. 

(Exeunt  all  but  DE  ESCOBAR.) 

Confess,  De  Escobar, 
That  this  rebellion  is  a  thriving  trade  ! 

ESCOBAR. 

It  has  proved  so  with  us  ;  thanks  to  the  times, 
And  to  our  leader  !     Were  the  first  less  roueh, 


204  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


The  second  less  determined,  and  less  skilled 

In  all  those  arts  that  win  the  populace, 

We  should  have  rued  the  attempt.     Still,  though  success 

Has  crowned  our  enterprise,  you  have  not  reached 

The  prize  at  which  you  grasped,  —  the  government. 

ROLDAN. 

But  I  am  well  content.     Know,  Don  Diego, 
That  in  Xaragua  I  have  found  a  prize 
Worth  all  the  spoils  of  Hayti  ! 

ESCOBAR. 

Ah  !  a  mine  ? 
ROLDAN. 
A  young,  fair  girl. 

ESCOBAR. 

Ambition  yields  to  love  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Reserve  your  smiles  till  you  have  seen  the  maid, 
For,  by  my  patron  saint,  such  matchless  charms 
The  Old  World  never  saw  ! 

ESCOBAR. 

Who  is  this  wonder  ? 

ROLDAN. 

Anacaona's  daughter,  young  Alana, 
Whose  sire,  the  proud  cacique,  Caonabo, 
Died  of  a  broken  heart,  when,  as  a  captive, 
He  voyaged  late  to  Spain. 

ESCOBAR. 

You  think  to  win 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  205 


This  Western  flower  ?     Perchance  her  vows  are  given 
To  some  young  chieftain  of  her  native  isle. 

ROLDAN. 

Her  heart  is  free  as  are  the  sun's  bright  rays, 

And  shall  ere  long  be  mine  !  —  But  see,  who  comes  ? 

Behechio,  the  cacique. 

(Enter  BEHECHIO.) 

Welcome,  prince  ! 
What  happy  chance  directs  your  steps  this  way  ? 

BEHECHIO. 

One  of  my  tribe  brings  news,  that  not  far  hence, 
Within  the  valley,  a  young  Spaniard  waits, 
Who  seeks  your  friend  Don  Adrian,  or  yourself. 

ROLDAN. 

A  stranger,  chieftain,  or  one  of  my  band  ? 

BEHECHIO. 

My  people  know  him  not. 

ROLDAN. 

Thanks,  chieftain,  thanks, 
For  your  prompt  warning  !     I  will  hasten  forth, 
Though  now  I  Ve  little  dread  of  foes.     Perchance 
This  stranger  is  some  envoy  from  Columbus. 
If  such,  he  shall  be  welcomed  with  due  state. 

[Exeunt. 


206  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


SCENE  II. 

A  different  part  of  the  valley.     GUEVARA  discovered  alone. 

GUEVARA. 

So,  this  is  banishment  !  —  to  be  condemned 

To  dwell  awhile  in  paradise  !     It  proves 

That  chastisement  is  sometimes  love.     The  ship 

In  which  I  should  have  sailed  for  Spain  is  gone, 

And  here,  thanks  to  my  sentence,  I  can  rest, 

Until  I  'm  wearied  e'en  of  happiness. 

This  clime  was  formed  for  bliss  !     Where'er  I  turn, 

New  beauties  meet  my  eye.     Granada's  plains, 

So  rich  in  nature's  charms  that  legends  say 

The  Moorish  heaven  hangs  over  them,  must  yield 

In  splendor  to  Xaragua's  vales.     But  hark  ! 

[Drums  and  trumpets  heard. 

What  martial  sound  breaks  on  the  slumbering  air  ? 
Trumpets'  and  drums'  rude  notes  dispel  the  charm 
Which  made  me  quite  forget  that  this  sweet  grove, 
With  all  its  beauty,  was  of  earth.     I  see 
A  numerous  train,  with  all  the  pomp  of  war, 
Move  slowly  on.     Is  this  to  honor  me  ? 
Or  rages  discord  'mid  these  blooming  scenes  ? 
Near  and  more  near  they  come  ;  I  now  descry 
Their  leader's  waving  plume  and  glittering  spear  ; 
How  beautiful  the  sight,  as  on  they  march, 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  207 


Beneath  the  verdant  boughs  of  those  huge  trees  ! 
My  pulses  bound  anew  with  knightly  ardor  ! 
Fled  are  th'  effeminate  dreams  of  ease,  in  which 
These  soft,  luxurious  scenes  ensnared  rny  soul  ! 
Now,  now  I  feel  what  folly  't  was  to  brave 
Columbus'  wrath,  and  so  blot  out  my  name 
From  the  immortal  roll  on  which  the  world, 
In  future  days,  shall  read  the  glorious  deeds 
Of  those  who  gave  to  light  these  Western  shores. 
The  die  is  cast  !     I  'm  less  than  nothing  here  : 
So  let  me  haste  to  Spain,  and  once  agajn 
Stand  forth  among  her  chivalry,  nor  dream, 
In  base,  inglorious  ease,  my  life  away  ! 
Castile  !     Castile  !     O,  would  that  I  were  there  ! 
(Enter  ROLDAN,  DE  ESCOBAR,  DE  MOXICA,  REGUELME,  and 

a  numerous  train  of  Spaniards. ) 
DE  MOXICA  (advancing  to  GUEVARA). 
Hernando  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Adrian  !  [They  embrace. 

DE    MOXICA. 

Most  welcome,  cousin  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Most  welcome  to  Xaragua,  Don  Hernando  ! 
De  Escobar,  Reguelme,  —  all  my  friends 
Are  known  to  you,  I  think. 

REGUELME. 

Welcome,  my  friend  !     What  tidings  do  you  bring 


208  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


From  the  great  city  and  the  Admiral  ? 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Most  welcome,  Don  Hernando  !     Would  you  see 
How  well  rebellion  prospers  in  this  province, 
That  you  have  left  the  viceroy's  retinue, 
To  grace  Xaragua  with  your  presence  ? 

GUEVARA. 

Knights, 

I  thank  your  courtesy  ;  but  let  me  ask, 
Why  you  approach  me  with  an  armed  train  ? 
Me  thinks,  to  greet  a  friend  and  countryman 
No  war  array  was  needed  ! 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

It  was  meant 

That  your  reception  should  be  framed  to  suit 
The  rank  you  hold.     I  pray  you  let  us  know 
What  title  may  be  yours,  —  if  you  are  termed 
The  viceroy's  spy  or  his  ambassador  ? 

DE    MOXICA. 

De  Escobar,  this  insult  to  my  friend 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

May  be  avenged,  if  he  can  wield  a  sword  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Back  !  back  !     This  quarrel  's  idle  !     What  !  so  soon 
Wearied  of  peace  that  you  would  slay  your  friends  ! 
De  Escobar,  what  means  this  insolence  ? 
It  should  have  been  for  me  to  ask  the  cause 
That  brings  Guevara  here.      Serior,  I  pray  you, 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  209 


Excuse  this  rudeness  !     'T  is  so  short  a  time 
Since  it  was  needful  to  maintain  strict  watch, 
That  we  still  deem  each  visitor  a  foe 
Until  we  know  his  purpose. 

GUEVARA. 

No  excuse, 

Senor,  is  needed.     I  have  learned,  ere  this, 
That  pardoned  rebels  still  dread  punishment ; 
Still  by  their  perfidy  judge  others'  faith. 
Believe  me,  this  reception  moves  me  not, 
Or  moves  me  but  to  laughter,  that  one  knight 
Should  cause  commotion  in  your  numerous  train. 

ROLDAN. 
Are  you  an  envoy  of  the  viceroy  ? 

GUEVARA. 

No. 

I  am  a  banished  man,  and  ordered  here 
But  to  embark  for  Spain. 

DE    MOXICA. 

How  ?  banished,  cousin 
How  has  Columbus  dared  assume  such  sway 
Over  a  high-born  Spanish  cavalier  ? 

GUEVARA. 

It  matters  not ;  the  viceroy  disapproved 
My  conduct,  and  dismissed  me  from  his  suite. 
Arriving  here,  I  found  the  fleet  had  sailed, 
So  thought  to  task  your  hospitality. 
27 


210  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ROLDAN. 

'T  is  freely  given  for  your  own  sake,  Senor, 
And  for  your  cousin's.     Rest  with  us,  I  pray, 
Until  you  're  weary  of  this  Western  world, 
And  pine  for  Spain. 

GUEVARA. 

Thanks  for  your  courtesy  ! 
But  on  these  shores  I  may  not  long  remain. 
I  cannot  rest  inactive  ;  here,  the  field 
Of  knightly  enterprise  is  closed  to  me. 
Spain  must  again  receive  me  on  her  soil ; 
My  sword  need  not  rust  there. 

DE  ESCOBAR. 

There  speaks  Castile  ! 
Guevara,  in  all  honorable  frankness, 
I  pray  your  pardon  for  my  rash  suspicions  ! 
While  I  esteemed  you  of  Columbus'  train, 
My  heart  was  closed  against  you.     I  was  Wrong. 
So  there  's  my  hand. 

GUEVARA. 

And  mine. 
ROLDAN   (to  GUEVARA). 

The  Indian  drum  ! 
Behechio,  cacique  of  this  province, 
Comes  with  his  followers  to  welcome  you. 

(Enter  BEHECHIO,  followed  by  a  number  of  his  tribe.) 

BEHECHIO. 

Roldan,  I  haste  to  offer  to  your  friend 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  211 


The  welcome,  which  it  is  my  will  and  duty, 
As  chieftain  of  this  province,  to  extend 
To  every  stranger. 

ROLDAN. 
Hospitality 

Dwells  ever  with  Behechio.     Behold 
My  countryman,  Hernando  de  Guevara, 
Who  fain  would  see  the  paradise  of  Hayti 
Ere  he  returns  to  Spain,  his  native  land. 

BEHECHIO. 

Young  stranger,  you  are  welcome  to  Xaragua.  • 

If  you  have  sought  it  with  no  ill  intent, 

I  trust  you  may  find  pleasure  in  its  vales. 

All  they  contain  are  yours  while  you  remain 

Behechio 's  guest  ;  their  fragrant  flowers  and  fruits, 

The  dwellers  of  the  lake,  of  earth,  and  air, 

Are  at  your  service  ;  so  Behechio  wills  it. 

If  your  designs  are  evil,  may  the  God 

Who  rules  us  both  preserve  this  peaceful  land 

And  happy  people  from  your  influence  ! 

GUEVARA. 

I  thank  your  kindness,  chieftain,  and,  believe  me, 
No  evil  wishes  lurk  within  my  breast 
Against  your  people  ;  may  they  long  remain 
Peaceful  and  happy  !     In  Xaragua 
I  'm  but  a  passing  guest.      A  few  short  days 
Will  see  me  pillowed  on  the  ocean's  breast, 
Wooing  your  Western  gales  to  waft  me  hence, 


212  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


Towards  my  natives  shores.     Those  shores,  indeed, 

Are  far  less  peaceful  and  less  beautiful 

Than  thine  own  groves  ;  but,  O,  they  're  far  more  dear  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Lo,  where  approach  Xaragua's  fair,  to  greet 
The  arrival  of  the  stranger  ! 

(Enter  a  long  train  of  Indian  maidens,  with  ALANA  at  their 
head,  bearing  in  their  hands  palm-branches .) 

Look,  my  friend, 

Upon  these  island  beauties,  and  decide 
Between  them  and  the  vaunted  dames  of  Spain. 

(ALANA  moves  aside,  the  other  maidens  kneel  and  place  the  palms 
at  GUEVARA'S  feet.) 

MAIDENS. 

Welcome,  O  stranger,  to  Xaragua's  plains  ! 

ROLDAN. 

And  see,  the  fair  Anacaona  comes, 
Moving  in  state  ;  Behechio's  sister  she, 
And  widow  of  the  chieftain  Caonabo. 
Among  her  tribe  she  's  honored  as  a  queen. 
Pay  her  due  reverence,  she  is  worthy  of  it ! 

[Aside  to  GUEVARA. 
(Enter  ANACAONA,  escorted  by  Indian  maidens  and  warriors.) 

ROLDAN. 

Princess,  let  me  present  my  worthy  friend, 
The  cavalier  Hernando  de  Guevara. 

ANACAONA. 

The  cavalier  is  welcome  to  my  home  ; 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  213 


Anacaona  is  the  Spaniard's  friend. 

GUEVARA. 

Princess,  my  people  own  your  constant  kindness, 

And  are  most  grateful.     For  myself,  I  feel 

Much  honored  by  a  welcome  so  distinguished. 

I  am  a  simple  Spanish  cavalier, 

Without  authority  upon  your  shores, 

And  had  no  right  to  hope  that  such  reception 

Would  wait  me  from  the  princes  of  the  land  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Think  not,  O  youth,  that  to  the  great  alone 

We  haste  to  offer  hospitality  ; 

The  name  of  stranger  claims  its  sacred  rites. 

DE  ESCOBAR. 

Which  is  your  island  goddess  ?  [Aside  to  ROLDAN. 

ROLDAN. 

She  who  stands 

Apart,  and  silently  surveys  the  scene. 
De  Escobar,  mark  with  what  native  grace 
And  dignity  she  's  stamped  !     Not  such  the  mien 
With  which  our  high-born  dames  of  Spain  are  seen  ! 
In  them  art  faintly  mocks  the  noble  air 
Which  nature  here  bestows  without  constraint.  [Aside. 

BEHECHIO. 

Roldan,  the  feast  awaits  us  ;  with  your  friends 
Haste  to  partake  it. 

ROLDAN. 
Chief,  we  follow  you.  [Exeunt. 


214  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ACT   II. 

SCENE  I.     A  grove,  with  a  fountain  in  its  centre.     ANACAONA'S 
dwelling  in  the  background.     BEHECHIO  and  ANACAONA. 

BEHECHIO. 

ANOTHER  Spaniard  !     Thus  each  day,  each  hour, 
Brings  on  these  locusts  of  that  far  world  !     Soon 
All  Hayti  will  be  theirs,  and  we  their  slaves  ! 
Cursed  be  the  light  that  to  their  longing  eyes 
Displayed  these  shores  !     Cursed  be  the  favoring  winds 
Which  bore  their  winged  canoes  across  the  waves, 
Nor  rent  each  beam  asunder  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Brother,  why 
This  sudden  rage  ?     What  is  't  disturbs  thee  thus  ? 

BEHECHIO. 

O,  blinded  to  thy  fate  !     What  dost  thou  ask  ? 
Seest  thou  not  day  by  day  these  Spaniards  wrest 
Our  freedom  from  us,  yet  canst  coldly  ask, 
What  is  't  disturbs  thee  ? 

ANACAONA. 

Is  there  some  new  wrong  ? 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  215 


In  yon  fair-spoken  Spaniard  hast  thou  found 
A  hidden  foe  ? 

BEHECHIO. 

'T  is  not  on  one,  but  all, 

That  my  thoughts  turn.     How  short  a  time  has  passed 
Since  he  whom  in  their  foreign  tongue  they  term 
Adelantado,  brother  to  Colon, 
Entered  our  province  with  a  warlike  train, 
And  asked  and  offered  friendship  !     Mark  the  end  ! 
His  followers  return,  —  their  avarice 
And  love  of  ease  incited  by  these  vales, 
Where  Nature's  hand  provides  with  lavish  care 
For  Nature's  children.     Quickly  they  report 
The  beauties  of  Xaragua,  and,  behold  ! 
Ere  long  Roldan  and  his  rebellious  band 
Take  refuge  here  from  justice. 

ANACAONA. 

You  received 
And  welcomed  them. 

BEHECHIO. 

True.     Think'st  thou  that  I  cared 
When  these  oppressive  strangers  left  their  prey, 
To  turn  and  rend  each  other  ?     My  word  was  pledged 
T'  afford  my  friendship  to  all  Spaniards,  nor 
Had  I  the  power,  whatever  were  my  will, 
To  guard  my  province  from  intrusion. 

ANACAONA. 

But 


216  THENEWWORLD. 


Why  are  you  now  thus  roused  ?     Nor  by  Roldan, 
Nor  by  his  band,  have  we  been  wronged,  and  now 
They  're  yielded  to  their  chief,  and  are  content 
To  cease  their  strife. 

BEHECHIO. 

And  turn  their  restless  fury 
Again  upon  our  people  !     O  my  country  ! 
Once  free  and  happy,  how  art  thou  declining  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Behechio,  why  thus  afflict  yourself  ? 
Why  ever  dwell  upon  the  gloomiest  side 
Of  our  affairs  ?     Reflect  how  much  more  wise 
These  strangers  are  than  we  ;  —  how  wonderful 
Their  knowledge  seems  to  us  !     Compare  their  ships, 
Which  dare  the  angry  waves,  to  our  canoes  ; 
Compare  the  dwellings  which  they  raise  with  ours  ; 
Note  well  their  dress,  —  th'  impenetrable  garb 
Which  bids  befiance  to  the  bow  and  spear  ! 
Behold  their  weapons  too,  —  alas,  how  deadly  ! 
A  thousand,  thousand  things  at  once  display 
Our  ignorance  and  their  skill.     'T  is  by  the  last 
They  conquer  us.     Then  let  us  rather  seek 
To  win  from  them  the  wisdom  which  is  power, 
Than  risk  unequal  strife.     O  mighty  race  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

And  mightiest  still  in  vice  ! 

ANACAONA. 

O,  say  not  so  ! 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  217 


Behold  Columbus  and  his  warlike  brother  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

Ay,  they  are  good  and  great,  —  as  Spaniards  may  be  ; 
No  avarice  inspires  them  ;  —  yet  their  hands 
Are  stained  with  Haytien  blood  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Not  willingly 

They  shed  it,  but,  alas  !  in  self-defence  ; 
They  were  the  aggrieved. 

BEHECHIO. 

Woman,  rememberest  thou 
Thy  husband,  the  proud  Carib,  Caonabo  ? 
Whose  hands  placed  fetters  on  his  free-born  limbs  ? 
Who  tore  him  from  his  home,  his  wife,  his  child, 
And  bore  him  in  their  ships  far  from  the  land 
Dear  to  his  soul  ?     He  died,  Anacaona  ! 
His  eagle  eye  gazed  madly  on  the  bonds 
Which  Spanish  craft  threw  round  him,  and  he  died  ! 
Not  on  the  battle-field,  where  his  strong  arm 
Was  ever  first ;  not  'mid  his  faithful  tribe 
Did  he  depart ;  but  far  on  unknown  waves 
His  spirit  fainted,  and  his  proud  form  drooped  ; 
'T  was  there  he  died,  —  died  of  a  broken  heart  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Behechio,  spare,  O,  spare  me  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

Spare  thee  ?     No  ! 

Listen,  while  I  recount  the  mighty  deeds 
28 


218  THE    NEW   WORLD. 

Of  Spanish  friends  !     Hast  thou  forgotten  yet 

The  day,  the  fatal  day,  when  down  they  rushed 

On  Caonabo's  brother,  who  had  called 

His  tribe  to  avenge  their  chieftain's  loss  ?     Then,  then, 

Burst  the  loud  thunder  and  the  brilliant  flash 

Forth  from  the  echoing  forest,  and  thy  friends, 

Like  autumn  leaves,  were  strewn  upon  the  plain. 

Soon  on  their  giant  coursers  came  the  foe 

Forth  from  their  covert ;  lance,  and  spear,  and  sword 

Drank  Haytien  blood,  and  o'er  the  prostrate  forms 

Of  Hayti's  sons  careered  the  horses  ;  then 

They  loosed  the  furious  bloodhound  on  thy  friends, 

Which,  not  more  savage  than  their  Spanish  lords, 

Sprang  at  the  throats,  tore  out  the  quivering  hearts 

ANACAONA. 

Cease  !  I  entreat  thee,  cease  !     Must  I  endure 

Again  the  tortures  of  that  scene  of  woe  ? 

Had  Caonabo  listened  to  my  words 

He  still  had  lived  and  reigned.     Too  well  I  saw 

That  'gainst  the  weapons  of  the  Spanish  band 

No  Haytien  could  stand,  and  counselled  peace. 

My  words  were  vain,  and  vain  are  now  my  tears. 

But,  O  Behechio,  be  ruled  by  me  ! 

Thy  vales  are  fruitful,  and  thy  tribe  at  peace  ; 

The  Spaniards  are  thy  friends  ;  O,  let  no  rashness 

Destroy  this  peace,  and  desolate  thy  land  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

The  warning  is  not  needed.     No  vain  hopes 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  219 


Shall  lead  me  to  embroil  my  hapless  tribe 
In  useless  strife.     No  ;  though  their  doom  must  come, 
Let  me  not  haste  it !     May  I  never  live 
To  see  my  people's  misery  !  to  see 
Their  hopeless  ruin  !  for  the  day  is  near 
When  all  their  joys  must  end  ;  when  slavery 
And  labor  harsh  shall  chase  the  dance  and  song 
Of  the  cool  evening  hours  !     O,  never  more 
Shall  liberty  and  ease  resume  their  reign  ! 
Sorrow,  and  toil,  and  care,  the  conqueror's  sword, 
Will  do  their  work,  and  our  unhappy  race 
Must  vanish  fast  beneath  them  !  —  But  I  see 
Alana  comes  this  way.     Let  us  retire, 
Nor  darken  with  our  griefs  her  sunny  smiles.  [Exeunt. 

(Enter  ALANA.) 

ALANA. 

How  my  heart  beats  !     I  thought  some  one  pursued, 

And,  turning,  caught  the  gleam  of  mail,  then  fled. 

No  one  appears,  so  here  I  will  repose, 

And  dream  of  days  before  these  strangers  came 

To  fill  our  valleys  with  the  noise  of  war. 

Hark  !  hear  I  not  a  step  ?     No  ;  all  is  still. 

I  feared  it  was  Roldan  who  followed  me, 

To  fill  my  ear  with  tedious  words  of  love. 

To-day  I  like  him  less  than  yesterday  ; 

Yet  know  not  why,  for  he  's  the  same  as  then  ; 

Perhaps  I  'm  changed  ;  —  but  I  '11  not  think  of  him. 

I  '11  throw  myself  beside  this  sparkling  fount, 


220  THE    NEW    WORLD. 

List  to  its  gentle  murmurs,  and  inhale 

The  breeze  that  sports  amid  this  verdant  grove. 

[Seats  herself  by  the  fountain,  and  gazes  into  it. 
(GUEVARA  enters  gently  behind  and  bends  over  her ;  she  sees  his  face 
reflected  in  the  water,  and  starts  up  ivith  a  faint  shriek.) 

GUEVARA. 

Fair  wood-nymph,  fly  me  not  !     If  I  am  bold 
In  entering  thy  retreat,  thy  charms  will  plead 
Most  eloquently  my  excuse  ! 

ALANA. 

Senor, 

Xaraguan  maids  ask  not  the  stranger's  homage  ; 
They  are  content  to  charm  Xaraguan  youths, 
Whose  hearts  know  no  deceit. 

GUEVARA. 

So  young,  so  fair, 

And  yet  so  stern  !     Say,  maiden,  why  you  fled 
When  late  I  sought  to  stay  your  passing  steps. 

ALANA. 

I  thought  —  I  feared 

GUEVARA. 

Am  I  so  terrible  ? 

ALANA. 

I  feared  it  was  Roldan  who  followed  me. 

GUEVARA. 

Ha  !  here  is  rivalry  !     (Aside.)     Then  I  may  hope 
You  did  not  fly  from  me  ? 

ALANA. 

I  thought  not  of  you. 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  221 


GUEVARA. 

That  answer  might  beseem  a  court  coquette  !  [Aside. 

Maiden,  I  have  a  sister,  young  like  you, 

Who  mourns  my  absence  from  my  father's  home, 

With  no  kind  friend  to  smile  away  my  cares, 

Or  share  my  sorrows  ;  could  that  sister  think 

That  in  this  Western  land  there  was  a  maid, 

Young,  fair,  and  gentle,  who  'd  compassionate 

Her  brother's  lonely  fate,  what  gratitude 

Would  move  her  tender  breast !     She  could  not  think 

That  Western  maids  would  spurn  the  stranger's  heart. 

ALANA. 

Nay,  judge  us  not  so  harshly  ;  we  but  fear 
His  flattery. 

GUEVARA. 

Can  Western  lovers  gaze 
On  beauty's  cheek,  nor  let  the  heart's  emotion 
Burst  forth  from  lip  and  eye  ?     Ah,  not  so  calm 
Our  Spanish  youths  !     With  them  't  is  Beauty's  glance 
That  prompts  to  deeds  of  glory,  Beauty's  smile 
That  well  repays  all  peril.     Tell  them  not 
In  Beauty's  presence  to  repress  their  rapture, 
Nor  let  their  lips  proclaim  their  soul's  devotion. 
Vain  is  the  wish  to  bar  love's  privilege. 
Thus  do  they  kneel,  and  pay  the  homage  due, 
And  plead,  as  now  I  plead,  for  Beauty's  favor. 

ALANA. 

How  can  I  answer  you  ?     I  dare  not  think 


222  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


Your  words  are  more  than  sport.     I  pray  you,  know 
That  Western  hearts,  though  not  less  soft  and  true 
Than  those  of  other  climes,  yet  do  not  yield 
To  those  who  seek  them  but  in  idleness. 
Nor  prize  the  love  they  win.     Stranger,  't  is  said 
That  Spanish  youths,  although  with  many  vows 
They  bind  themselves,  know  naught  of  constancy, 
But  each  fair  maid  in  turn  adore,  and  pledge 
Their  broken  faith  anew. 

GUEVARA. 

Let  not  thy  heart 

Harbour  suspicion.     'T  is  the  foulest  guest 
That  ever  clouded  the  sweet  sympathies 
Of  youthful  maiden's  breast.     In  sober  truth, 
I  love  thee,  fair  Alana  ;  for  my  love 
Grant  me  some  little  hope  to  win  thy  heart. 

ALANA. 

Alas,  I  fear  that  't  is  already  won  !  [Aside. 

I  cannot  say I  must  begone  ;  I  hear 

A  Stranger's  footsteps.  [She  hurries  into  the  cottage. 

GUEVARA. 

Like  a  timid  fawn 

She  bounds  away,  but  bears  within  her  breast 
The  subtle  dart  of  love.     How  beautiful  ! 
The  untamed  daughter  of  the  wilderness  ! 
May  it  be  mine  to  bear  this  graceful  flower 
To  other  climes,  and  show  the  proud  Old  World 
That  the  chief  treasure  of  these  Western  shores 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  223 


Lies  not  in  gold  or  gems,  but  woman's  charms  ! 
(Enter  DE  ESCOBAR.) 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

I  joy  to  see  that  in  this  calm  retreat 
Time  hangs  not  heavily  upon  your  hands. 
You  miss  not,  then,  the  viceroy's  mimic  court  ? 

GUEVARA. 

That  had  its  pleasures,  yet  I  mourn  them  not. 
Here  Nature  is  omnipotent,  and  I 
Am  at  her  shrine  a  fervent  worshipper. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Worship  not  too  devoutly  at  the  shrine 
Of  Nature's  children. 

GUEVARA. 

Escobar,  your  meaning 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Is  plain  and  friendly.     But  a  moment  since 
You  parted  from  Alana. 

GUEVARA. 

He  who  dares 
To  play  the  spy  upon  me  is  my  foe. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

You  are  too  hasty.     I  am  not  your  foe, 

But  warn  you  for  your  safety.     Know,  Roldan 

Is  fixed  to  wed  this  island  maiden. 

GUEVARA. 

Ay? 
Deem'st  thou  Roldan  so  dreadful,  that  his  name 


224  THE    NEW   WORLD. 

Can  fright  me  from  my  will  ?     De  Escobar, 
I  am  content  that  he  should  be  my  rival ; 
And  when  he  will,  our  weapons  shall  decide 
Who  best  deserves  to  win  this  Haytien  maid. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Truce  with  your  folly  !     Think  you  he  will  yield 
To  such  decision  his  so-cherished  prize  ? 
Reflect  that  he  is  powerful,  and  you 
Without  support ;  why,  then,  provoke  his  wrath  ? 

GUEVARA. 

His  wrath  may  serve  to  fright  the  simple  Indian  ; 
The  belted  knight  but  scorns  so  poor  a  threat. 
Say  to  Roldan  that  't  will  be  seen,  ere  long, 
Which  bears  the  best  blade  and  most  winning  tongue. 

[Exit. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Go,  foolish  boy,  rush  headlong  on  your  fate  ! 
Buy  with  your  life  an  Indian  maiden's  smile  ! 
You  have  been  warned,  and  I  can  do  no  more. 

[Exit. 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  225 


ACT    III. 

SCENE  I.     In  ANACAONA'S  cottage.     ROLDAN,  BEHECHIO, 
and  ANACAONA. 

ROLDAN. 

You,  princess,  you,  Behechio,  know  my  wish 
To  wed  Alana.     Though  I  cannot  woo 
In  flattering  phrase,  trust  me,  you  could  not  yield 
The  maid  to  one  whose  love  is  more  sincere. 

ANACAONA. 

Win,  then,  her  own  consent,  and  she  is  thine. 

ROLDAN. 

Have  I  your  favor,  chief  ? 

BEHECHIO. 

I  am  well  pleased 

The  maiden  should  wed  one  whose  arm  is  strong 
To  shield  her  from  the  woes  which  I  foresee 
Must  overwhelm  our  isle. 

ROLDAN. 

Then  summon  her. 
(ANACAONA  retires,  and  reappears  with  ALANA.) 

BEHECHIO. 
Now  may  her  mother's  wit  have  taught  her  how 


226  THE    NEW    WORLD. 

This  Spaniard  must  be  answered  !     Much  I  fear 

Her  will  from  prudence  will  receive  no  council  !        [Aside. 

ROLDAN. 

You  know  my  love,  Alana  ;  a  blunt  soldier 
Abhors  delays,  nor  can  with  patience  wait 
The  thousand  changes  of  the  female  heart. 
I  pray  you,  therefore,  say  at  once  ygu  're  mine. 

ALANA. 

Spare  me  awhile,  Roldan  !     I  cannot  wed  ! 
My  heart  is  happier  in  its  native  freedom  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Such  vain  excuses  maidens  ever  make. 
Bestow  on  me  that  gentle,  fluttering  heart. 
I  have  no  wish  to  enslave  it.     Sure  my  own, 
Which  you  've  possessed  so  long,  may  be  esteemed 
Sufficient  hostage.     Speak  ! 

ALANA. 

Not  now  !  not  now  !  — 
How  my  head  swims  !  —  O  mother,  speak  for  me  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Maiden,  this  trifling  I  've  endured  too  long  ! 
Bethink  you  that  my  heart,  though  rude,  perchance, 
Has  softened  to  your  charms,  and  been  full  long 
The  slave  of  your  caprice  ;  that  heart  has  rights 
As  well  as  yours,  nor  must  they  be  denied. 
I  pray  you  to  be  candid.     I  would  know 
If  you  can  be  my  bride.     Still  no  reply  ? 
Perhaps  among  my  followers  you  Ve  found 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  227 


Some  knight  more  worthy  to  possess  your  love  ; 
One  whose  more  courtly  grace  and  courtly  words 
Eclipse  so  plain  a  wooer  as  myself ! 

[ALANA  bursts  into  tears  and  throws  herself  into  her  mother's  arms. 

ROLDAN  ivalks  about  as  if  perplexed  ;  then  kneels  to  ALANA. 
Forgive  me,  loved  one,  if  I  seem  too  harsh  ! 
Think  that  my  happiness  is  in  your  power, 
And  pardon  my  impatience  !     Ah,  those  tears 
Reproach  me  more  than  words  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Urge  her  no  more  ! 
Go  now,  nor  doubt  my  influence  in  your  favor. 

ROLDAN. 

Thanks,  princess  !     I  obey.     Much  I  suspect 
Some  other  claims  an  interest  in  her  heart. 
Who  dares  to  rival  me  may  dare  oppose 
The  hurricane's  fell  wrath  !     Farewell  awhile. 
Chieftain,  a  word  with  you. 

[Exeunt  ROLDAN  and  BEHECHIO. 

ANACAONA. 

Whence  are  these  passionate  tears  ?     Why  do  you  weep 
As  if  your  heart  must  break  ?     What  hidden  grief 
O'erwhelms  you  thus  ?     Confide  your  sorrows  to  me. 
Can  you  not  love  Roldan  ? 

ALANA. 

Love  him  !     No,  no  ! 

ANACAONA. 

And  is  he  so  abhorred  ?     You  were  not  wont 


228  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


To  name  him  in  such  tones.     You  have  done  wrong 
To  listen  to  his  passion,  if  you  felt 
Such  hatred  to  him. 

ALANA. 

O,  rebuke  me  not, 
Unless  you  're  merciless  as  he  ! 

ANACAONA. 

My  child, 

Thy  present  misery  is  rebuke  enough 
For  any  fault  thy  inexperienced  youth 
Has  led  thee  to  commit.     Yet  can  it  be 
That  hatred  to  Roldan  is  the  sole  cause 
Of  all  these  bitter  tears  ?     Answer,  my  child  ; 
Is  there  no  other  reason  ?     Ah,  that  start  ! 
Then  he  was  right  !     Who  is  the  rival  ?     Who 
Has  won  this  heart  that  beats  so  wildly  ?     Speak  ! 

ALANA. 

I  dare  not  say.     Roldan's  last  words  still  ring 
Upon  my  ear  with  most  foreboding  sound. 
Ah,  woe  is  me  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Heed  not  his  threats.     Not  all 
His  arrogance  shall  win  thee  from  me 
Should  you  consent 

ALANA. 

O,  never  ! 

ANACAONA. 

So  resolved  ? 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  229 


This  favored  one,  is  he  of  thine  own  race  ? 
A  Spaniard,  then  ?  —  Don  Adrian  ?  —  Not  so  ?  — 
Guevara  ?  —  Thy  emotion  answers.     Nay, 
Weep  not  anew  ;  Guevara  's  formed  to  win  ! 
His  person,  grace,  and  eloquence  of  speech 
Might  well  subdue  a  heart  more  hard  than  thine. 

ALANA. 

Would  we  had  never  met  !     Alas,  I  dread 
Roldan's  stern  wrath  ! 

ANACAONA. 

What  shouldst  thou  fear  from  him  ? 

ALANA. 

I  think  not  of  myself ;  but,  ah,  my  mother, 

Roldan's  fierce  jealousy  will  never  rest 

Until  he  learns  who  rivals  him  !     Alas, 

Death  gleamed  from  his  stern  eye  when  he  retired  ! 

ANACAONA. 

These  terrors  ill  become  a  chieftain's  daughter. 
They  live  but  in  thy  fancy.     Come  with  me  ; 
Subdue  thy  tears,  and  banish  all  thy  cares. 
WTe  will  consult  Behechio,  and  his  judgment 
Shall  guide  us  safely  through  this  present  trouble. 

[Exeunt. 


230  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


SCENE  II. 
Before  ROLDAN'S  dwelling.     DE  ESCOBAR  and  DE  MOXICA. 

DE    MOXICA. 

MY  friend,  you  're  in  the  Alcalde's  confidence  ; 
How  speeds  his  wooing  with  the  Haytien  maid  ? 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

I  know  he  loves  her,  but  I  know  no  more. 
Why  do  you  ask  ? 

DE    MOXICA. 

Because,  a  moment  since, 
I  saw  Behechio  and  Roldan  together  ; 
Slowly  they  walked,  and  earnestly  conferred. 
The  chieftain's  brow  was  clouded,  and  Roldan's 
Was  black  as  blackest  night ;  as  they  were  near 
Anacaona's  cottage,  and  full  oft 
Directed  there  their  gestures,  I  inferred 
That  her  fair  daughter  occupied  their  thoughts. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

JT  is  possible.     Roldan  himself  draws  near  ; 
If  you  are  anxious,  question  him,  I  pray  ;  — 
And  get  his  dagger  through  you  for  your  pains.          [Aside. 
(DE  MOXICA  draws  back  as  ROLDAN  enters.) 

ROLDAN. 

A  curse  on  woman's  fickleness  !     A  curse 


THE  NEW  WORLD.  231 


On  my  own  folly,  when  I  weakly  thought 
That  in  this  Western  world  the  sex  were  free 
From  the  caprice  which  governs  them  elsewhere  ! 

[Perceives  DE  MOXICA. 

Ha  !    De  Moxica  !     Eavesdropping  !     Begone  ! 
Have  I  no  privacy  ? 

(DE  MOXICA  withdraws  with  a  menacing  gesture.) 

De  Escobar, 
I  trust  your  friendship  !     You  must  aid  my  wrath  ! 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Command  me  as  you  will. 

ROLDAN. 

Must  I  repeat 

My  weakness  and  my  shame  ?     Well,  listen  then  ! 
When  first  Alana's  beauty  caught  my  eye, 
And  with  such  words  as  lovers  use  I  wooed  her, 
She  ne'er  repulsed  my  suit,  but  calmly  heard, 
Like  one  whose  heart  was  free.     From  this  I  hoped 
That  time  and  my  devotion  might  create 
An  answering  flame.     But  when,  scarce  an  hour  since, 
Sure  of  my  prize,  I  offered  her  my  hand, 
In  presence  of  her  mother  and  Behechio, 
She  answered  with  evasions,  sighs,  and  tears, 
Nor  could  my  prayers  or  threats  gain  further  notice. 
'T  is  plain  I  have  a  rival  ;  who  he  is 
I  know  not  ;  to  discover  him,  my  friend, 
I  ask  your  aid. 


232  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


DE    ESCOBAR. 

Guevara  is  the  man. 

ROLDAN. 

Ah,  it  is  possible  !     May  the  foul  fiend, 
Who  sent  him  hither,  rend  me  limb  from  limb, 
If  I  allow  him  to  bear  off  my  prize  ! 
What  shall  be  done  to  rid  me  of  this  youth 
Who  dares  to  rival  me  in  love  ? 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

I  know  not. 

ROLDAN. 

No  hesitation  !     Quick  !  devise  some  plan, 

Or {Laying  his  hand  on  his  dagger. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Must  it  come  to  that  ?     Not  so,  Roldan  ; 
Banish  him,  if  you  will,  but  harm  him  not. 

ROLDAN. 

Banish  him  ?     Where  ?     To  Isabella,  whence 
Colon  has  driven  him  ? 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

'T  were  a  jest  to  see 

The  Admiral's  proud  form  dilate  with  wrath 
At  such  presumption  in  the  pardoned  rebel  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Jest  not,  De  Escobar  !     By  all  the  saints, 
This  foolish  girl  's  so  seated  in  my  heart, 
That  if  I  would  I  could  not  tear  her  thence  ! 
Your  counsel !     Quick,  or  it  may  come  too  late  ! 


TH'E    NEW   WORLD.  233 


DE    ESCOBAR. 

This  is  no  scene  for  fiery  conference. 
Restrain  thy  wrathful  mood.     We  will  devise 
Some  fitting  means.     Enter  ;  we  '11  talk  within. 

[  They  go  into  the  house. 


SCENE  III. 

Before  ANACAONA'S  cottage.     ALANA  discovered,  seated  by  the 
fountain.     Enter  GUEVARA. 

GUEVARA. 

HERE  dwells  my  island  goddess  !     May  she  be, 

As  heretofore,  propitious  to  my  vows  ! 

Ah,  yonder  she  reclines  beside  the  fount, 

Like  Venus  gazing  on  her  parent  wave  ! 

She  weeps  !     On  earth  who  can  hope  happiness, 

When  youth  and  innocence  are  prey  to  sorrow  ? 

Alana,  my  beloved,  whence  are  those  tears  ? 

ALANA. 

Fly  from  me,  youth  !     Ah,  fly  !     Avoid  my  presence  ! 
Danger  and  death  lurk  near  me  ! 
GUEVARA. 

True,  my  love. 

There  's  danger  in  those  eyes,  whose  radiant  glance 
Has  pierced  my  heart.     There  's  danger  in  each  grace 
Thy  youthful  form  displays.     I  own  thy  power, 

And  yield  myself  thy  captive. 
30 


234  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ALANA. 

Cease,  Guevara, 

Nor  linger  here  !     Even  now  the  fierce  Roldan 
Swears  horrid  vengeance  'gainst  thee. 

GUEVARA. 

This  confirms 

The  warning  of  De  Escobar,  and  now, 
Whilst  the  fair  maid  trembles  'twixt  love  and  fear, 
I  '11  wile  the  sweet  confession  from  her  lips.  [Aside. 

Roldan  may  threaten  as  he  will  ;  while  here 
I  offer  up  my  homage,  thou  alone 
Fillest  all  my  thoughts. 

ALANA. 

Guevara,  O,  forbear, 

Nor  brave  the  Alcalde's  wrath  !     Should  he  appear, 
Thy  life  would  pay  the  forfeit  of  thy  rashness. 

GUEVARA. 

Whence  is  his  sudden  fury  against  me, 

To  whom,  so  short  time  since,  he  was  a  stranger  ? 

ALANA. 

I  am  the  wretched  cause. 

GUEVARA. 

Thou,  fair  one  ?     Thou  ? 
Can  he  expect  to  bar  all  eyes  save  his 
From  gazing  on  thy  beauty,  and  all  hearts 
From  paying  thee  allegiance  ? 

ALANA. 

Ah  !  he  fears,  — 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  235 


He  thinks  he  has  a  rival,  though  as  yet 

He  knows  not  whom.     Ah,  shun  his  jealous  wrath  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Jealous  indeed  !     If  he  possess  that  heart, 
Why  should  he  rage  against  the  hapless  knight 
Who  dares  but  gaze  on  thee,  without  a  hope 
To  win  the  treasure  from  him  ? 

ALANA. 

Well  he  knows 

My  heart  was  never  his,  and  now  he  fears 
That  't  is  bestowed  elsewhere. 

GUEVARA. 

O,  let  me  hope 

I  have  some  share  in  it  !     Turn  not  away, 
But  listen  to  my  suit.     Say,  by  what  vows 
Shall  I  convince  thee  of  my  truth  ?     To  doubt 
Were  cruelty.     Behold,  this  crystal  fount 
Shall  in  its  glassy  mirror  bear  such  witness 
To  my  sincerity,  as  must  remove 
Each  shadow  of  a  fear.     See  thine  own  charms  ! 
Who  can  gaze  on  them  and  not  be  subdued  ? 
Ah,  yield  thee,  fair  one  !     Why  shouldst  thou  deny 
To  own,  that,  though  a  conqueror,  thou  canst  pity 
The  pangs  thou  dost  inflict  ?     Give  me  the  heart 
Which,  trembling,  flies  Roldan's  unknightly  wooing  ! 
Thou  yieldest,  gentle  one  !     Thy  trembling  hand 
Assures  my  happiness  ;  ah,  let  thy  lips 
Pronounce  me  blest,  and  thus  confirm  my  rapture  ! 


236  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ALANA. 

Ah,  woe  is  me,  that  Caonabo's  child 

!Dares  not  declare  her  love,  but  stands  in  awe 

Of  foreign  tyrants  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Nay,  subdue  those  fears, 
And  frame  thy  voice  to  words  of  love  alone. 

ALANA. 

Guevara,  I  am  thine  ! 

GUEVARA. 

And  I  am  blest  ! 

ALANA. 

Yes,  this  weak  heart  is  thine  !     E'en  though  Roldan 
Witn  his  hard-hearted  followers  stood  near 
To  rend  me  from  thine  arms,  I  would  confess 
My  fervent  love,  and  scorn  his  ill-used  power, 
Which  stoops  to  oppress  a  woman  ! 
( ROLDAN  rushes  in.) 

ROLDAN. 

Art  thou  here, 

Base  traitor  ?     Fury  choaks  my  utterance  ! 
But  words  aid  not  revenge  !     The  clash  of  steel 
Is  the  sole  sound  required  !     Defend  thyself  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Ah  !     This  is  to  my  wish  !     Withdraw,  fair  maid, 
Nor  fear  for  the  result.     I  '11  win  my  bride 
As  Caonabo's  daughter  should  be  won, 
By  my  good  sword  ! 


THE    NEW  WORLD.  337 


ALANA. 

Forbear,  Roldan,  forbear  ! 
Ah,  pity  me,  and  cease  this  horrid  strife  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Off,  swarthy  slave  !     Why  should  I  pity  thee  ? 

GUEVARA. 

Begone,  Alana,  as  thou  lov'st  me  ! 

ALANA. 

Slave !  [Exit. 

(ROLDAN  and  GUEVARA  fight.     DE  MOXICA,  DE  ESCOBAR,  REGUELME, 

and  others,  enter  and  disarm  the  combatants.) 

ROLDAN. 

Who  dares  this  violence  ?     De  Escobar, 
Thy  life  shall  answer  this  !     Unhand  me,  sir  ! 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

You  '11  thank  me  by  and  by  ;  meanwhile,  your  threats 
Fall  harmless. 

GUEVARA  (to  DE  MOXICA). 

Adrian,  off  !     Is  he  my  friend 
Who  steps  'twixt  me  and  vengeance  ? 

DE  ESCOBAR  (aside  to  ROLDAN). 

Calm  thy  rage, 

Nor  risk  thy  life  in  such  ignoble  strife  ! 
How  would  your  enemies  exult  to  say 
That  you,  who  should  maintain  strict  harmony 
Throughout  the  province,  idly  risk  your  life 
In  brawling  for  an  Indian  maiden's  smiles  ! 
You  've  all  to  lose,  and  naught  to  gain  ;  for  when 


238  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


Guevara  is  removed  by  banishment. 
The  game  is  yours  again. 

ROLDAN. 

You  counsel  well ; 

But  yet,  such  is  my  hatred  to  that  youth 
That  I  should  think  my  vengeance  cheaply  bought, 
Even  at  the  price  of  life. 

[Exeunt  ROLDAN  and  DE  ESCOBAR. 

REGUELME  (to  GUEVARA). 

Explain  this  scene,  my  friend.     The  Indian  maid, 
Who  led  us  hither,  said  not  how  you  roused 
The  sleeping  tiger  in  the  Alcalde's  breast. 
Revenge  was  in  his  eye. 

GUEVARA. 

I  've  done  Roldan 

The  injury  which  man  can  least  forgive,  — 
I  've  won  from  him  the  maiden  of  his  love. 

REGTJELME. 

Look  to  your  life,  then,  friend  !     He  's  not  the  man 

That  will  forget  a  wrong.      You  cannot  know 

The  deep-laid  craft,  untiring  perseverance, 

And  desperate  boldness  of  his  character. 

'T  is  my  advice  that  you  should  quit  the  province  ; 

You  '11  not  be  safe  till  then. 

GUEVARA. 

And  leave  my  prize 

To  the  Alcalde  ?     No,  not  so,  my  friend. 
Guevara  never  fled  from  man.     Roldan 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  239 


May  practise  'gainst  my  life,  but  to  his  craft 
I  will  oppose  due  caution  ;  open  war 
I  '11  knightlike  meet ! 

REGUELME. 

Then  be  it  as  you  will. 

But  when  you  find  your  foes  too  many  for  you, 
Command  my  aid. 

DE    MOXICA. 

To  mine  you  have  the  right 
Of  friendship  and  of  blood. 

GUEVARA. 

Thanks  to  you  both  ! 
[Exeunt  REGUELME  and  DE  MOXICA. 
(ReZnter  ROLDAN.) 

ROLDAN. 

A  word  with  you,  Serior. 

GUEVARA  (laying  his  hand  on  his  sword}. 

Ah! 

ROLDAN. 

No  ;  not  so. 

I  meet  you  not  upon  such  terms.     Attend. 
Within  this  province  I  am  as  a  king  ; 
The  natives  honor  me  ;  a  numerous  band 
Of  trusty  followers  attends  my  steps, 
To  hear  and  execute  my  will ;  Colon, 
'Mid  all  his  sounding  rank  and  mockery 
Of  princely  state,  even  he  had  not  the  power 
To  oppose  me.     Wherefore  should st  thou  hope,  young 
man, 


240  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


To  brave  me  in  my  strength,  and  bear  away 
This  Haytien  maiden  from  my  watchful  care  ? 

GUEVARA. 

Roldan,  what  right  claim'st  thou  to  wed  this  maid, 
Despite  her  own  refusal  of  thy  hand  ? 

ROLDAN. 

The  right  of  power. 

GUEVARA. 

Ay,  true  !     The  unknighlly  taunt 
Suits  well  the  plebeian  lips  that  uttered  it  ! 
But  canst  thou  be  so  base  as  to  refuse 
To  leave  to  our  good  swords  the  arbitrament 
Of  this  dispute  ? 

ROLDAN. 

Why  should  I  grant  such  favor  ? 
The  arbitrament  's  already  in  my  hands. 
Why  should  I  stake  upon  my  weapon's  thrust 
What  is  already  mine  ? 

GUEVARA. 

Why  do  I  ask 

The  churlish  blood  that  stagnates  in  thy  veins 
To  flow  in  unison  with  the  pure  stream 
That  warms  a  noble's  breast  ?     Why  should  I  think 
The  low-born  clown,  who  basely  gained  his  power, 
Could  wield  that  power  with  honor  ?     Far  too  much 
I  graced  thee  when  I  crossed  my  sword  with  thine  ; 
For  thy  ignoble  blood  would  shame  the  blade 
Which  ne'er,  before  that  hour,  was  drawn  'gainst  one 


THENEWWORLD.  241 


So  far  beneath  the  rank  of  gentleman. 
Coward  and  churl  alike,  thy  heart  knows  not 
The  throb  of  honor. 

ROLDAN. 

Coward,  say'st  thou,  youth  ? 
Take  back  the  falsehood,  or 

GUEVARA. 

Or  thou  wilt  call 

Thine  armed  minions  to  avenge  the  scorn  ? 
No  !  I  repeat  it,  —  Coward  !     For  what  is  he 
Who  dares  not  with  his  sword  assert  his  honor  ? 

ROLDAN. 

Dares  not,  thou  misproud  knight !    Full  well  thou  know'st 
Nor  earth  nor  hell  can  show  the  deed  I  dare  not  ! 

GUEVARA. 

I  grant  it,  so  't  is  base. 

ROLDAN. 

Have  I  not  braved 

The  Adelantado  in  his  upstart  course, 
Thrown  off  his  yoke,  and  even  against  Colon 

Made  firm  resistance,  till  he  did  me  right  ? 

• 

GUEVARA. 

O,  doubly  base,  since,  with  unblushing  front, 
Thou  canst  adduce  thy  vile  ingratitude 
To  prove  thy  claim  to  courage  !     No,  Roldan, 
The  courage  which  ennobles  springs  from  honor. 
Such  courage  hast  thou  as  the  venomed  snake, 

Which  rears  its  slimy  crest  behind  its  victim, 
31 


242  THENEWWORLD. 


And  in  his  heel  inflicts  the  fatal  wound. 

'T  was  when  Colon  was  absent  that  you  sought 

By  your  foul  calumnies  to  undermine 

His  hard-earned  fame,  and  to  possess  his  power. 

But  you  were  baffled  there,  thanks  to  our  queen, 

Whose  high  Castilian  blood  would  never  give 

Castilian  subjects  to  such  sway  as  thine  ! 

ROLDAN. 

And  what,  then,  is  Colon  ?     His  ancestry 
Can  scarce  claim  more  respect  than  mine. 

GUEVARA. 

Not  so. 

Who,  when  the  sun  slow  rises  from  the  east, 
Asks  whence  it  comes  ?     Who,  when  the  eagle  soars 
On  untamed  pinions  upward  to  the  sky, 
Asks  of  his  birthplace  ?     None.     Columbus  stands 
Alone,  nor  needs  a  brilliant  ancestry. 
The  glorious  halo  which  surrounds  his  head 
Would  render  dim  the  most  renowned  descent ; 
Nor  will  men  look  beyond  that  blaze  of  fame 
To  know  if  light  or  darkness  dwell  behind  it. 
Columbus  never  erred,  save  when  he  raised 
A  reptile,  such  as  thou  art,  from  the  dust, 
Where,  but  for  him,  thou  wouldst  have  crawled  for  aye. 

ROLDAN. 

My  patience  vanishes  !  —  Yet  wherefore  vent 
My  passion  to  my  own  undoing  ?     He 
Whose  hands  are  tied  may  vent  in  wordy  war 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  343 

The  rancor  of  his  breast.     Adieu,  Senor  ; 

You  '11  learn  full  soon  what  't  is  to  brave  Roldan.       [Exit. 

GUEVARA. 

The  rebel  caitiff !     Could  I  but  arouse 

One  spark  of  knightly  ardor  in  his  breast, 

Then  might  I  hope  my  trusty  blade  would  win 

The  maid,  whom  much  I  fear  will  ne'er  be  mine, 

While  he  maintains  such  stubborn  policy  ; 

For  he  has  strength,  and  I  am  powerless. 

Accursed  fate  that  brought  me  to  this  isle  ! 

Why  did  I  leave  thee,  Spain  ?  why  quit  the  court 

Where  happiness  and  honor  bloomed  around  me  ? 

For  there  each  knight  confessed  my  martial  skill, 

Each  beauteous  dame  smiled  on  me.     Here  Roldan, 

Who  in  our  own  land  never  could  have  hoped 

The  honor  of  my  notice,  —  he  can  now 

Threaten  a  Spanish  noble  !  —  Dread  his  power  ! 

Or  yield  my  will  to  his  !     As  if  I  knew 

What  't  was  to  yield  !  —  Not  even  Colon  could  teach 

Guevara  such  a  lesson  !     Let  Roldan 

Look  to  himself  !     The  party  which  he  formed 

Against  Columbus  may  be  lured  to  turn 

Against  their  leader.     I  will  to  the  work, 

And  teach  this  upstart  churl  how  insecure 

Is  ill-gained  power. 

(Enter  DE  MOXICA.) 

Ah,  welcome,  Adrian  ! 

DE    MOXICA. 

Is  he  who  brings  ill  tidings  welcome  ? 


244  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


GUEVARA. 

Ah! 
Ill  tidings  !     Trifle  not,  I  pray  you,  cousin  ! 

DE    MOXICA. 

You  're  banished  to  Cahay. 

GUEVARA. 

Banished  !     By  whom  ? 

DE    MOXICA. 

By  whom  but  our  Alcalde,  mighty  man  ! 
Who  one  day  for  a  kingdom  wages  war, 
The  next  is  battling  for  a  woman's  favor. 

GUEVARA. 

And  has  he  dared  do  this  ? 

DE    MOXICA. 

He  dares  do  aught 

That  ever  mortal  dared.     Yet  this,  methinks, 
Is  no  such  mighty  deed  ;  —  't  is  but  to  oppress 
One  who  is  powerless. 

GUEVARA. 

I  will  appeal 
Back  to  the  viceroy  'gainst  this  flagrant  wrong. 

DE    MOXICA. 

Appeal  thou  to  Roldan  against  Colon, 

And  there  is  chance  that  thou  mayst  gain  thy  cause. 

Full  well  you  know,  that  in  our  late  rebellion, 

So  void  of  means  was  he  to  take  the  field, 

He  was  content  to  purchase  our  submission 

By  granting  full  assent  to  all  our  terms. 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  245 


GUEVARA. 

True  ;  true  ;  I  raved.     What  course  can  I  pursue  ? 

DE    MOXICA. 

What  course  ?     The  course  that  leads  you  from  this 
province. 

GUEVARA. 

Moxica,  no  !     To  leave  yon  gentle  maid, 

On  whom  my  wooing  draws  the  Alcalde's  wrath, 

Were  a  foul  blot  upon  my  knightly  fame  ! 

But  for  my  fatal  love,  she  ne'er  had  known 

Her  present  misery.     I  've  wooed  and  won 

This  lovely  one  ;  have  vowed  through  weal  or  woe 

That  my  right  arm  should  ever  bear  her  up 

Upon  life's  stormy  path  ;  and  shall  I  fly 

From  the  first  cloud  that  lowers  above  our  heads  ? 

When  I  do  this,  then  may  my  knightly  crest 

Be  humbled  in  the  dust,  my  spurs  hewn  off, 

My  spotless  shield  reversed  ! 

DE    MOXICA. 

Hernando,  hold  ! 

Where  you  cannot  resist,  there  is  no  shame 
In  yielding.     By  my  knighthood,  you  must  go  ! 
There  's  no  alternative.     And  for  the  maid, 
Your  friends  will  see  that  she  's  not  forced  to  wed 
The  Alcalde.     If  she  's  fickle,  like  her  sex, 
And  to  the  present  lover  most  inclines, 
You  must  submit. 

GUEVARA. 

Roldan  will  force  me  hence  ? 


246  THE    NEW  WORLD. 


DE    MOXICA. 

He  will,  Guevara.     Let  me  give  you  warning  ; 
Go,  and  in  silence.     In  the  Alcalde's  band 
Are  those  who  would  not  scruple  to  remove 
One  whom  they  deemed  their  leader's  enemy. 
Go  to  Cahay,  and  you  may  yet  return. 
Resist,  and  you  are  lost. 

GUEVARA. 

Hear  me,  my  friend. 
If  I  have  marked  aright,  among  the  band 
Who  with  Roldan  were  late  leagued  in  rebellion 
Are  men  of  dauntless  heart  and  iron  hand,  — 
Devoted  to  Roldan  while  by  the  sword 
He  ruled  both  friend  and  foe,  but  who  detest 
The  enforcer  of  the  laws. 

DE    MOXICA. 

'T  is  even  so. 

GUEVARA. 

Those  disaffected  spirits  must  be  mine  ! 

DE    MOXICA. 

With  time  for  combination,  we  '11  oppose 
The  Alcalde's  tyranny  with  equal  force. 
And  now,  away  !     His  watchful  myrmidons 
Will  soon  appear  to  enforce  their  lord's  decree. 

[Exeunt. 


THENEWWORLD.  247 


SCENE  IV. 

ANACAONA'S  cottage.     ANACAONA  and  ALANA, 

ALANA. 

AND  will  you  longer  urge  me  to  bestow 
My  hand  upon  Roldan  ?     Would  happiness 
E'er  smile  on  me  if  linked  to  such  a  Spaniard  ? 
His  evil  passions  would  destroy  my  peace. 

ANACAONA. 

Alana,  I  was  wrong.     I  fondly  hoped 
That  his  protection  would  secure  my  child 
From  any  woe  which  might  o'erwhelm  our  land. 
No  more  I  '11  importune  you. 

ALANA. 

Ah,  he  comes  ! 
(Enter  GUEVARA  and  DE  MOXICA.) 
Welcome,  Guevara,  welcome  !     At  thy  sight 
My  terrors  vanish,  and  my  fainting  heart 
Finds  firmness  in  thy  eyes. 

GUEVARA. 

What  fears  my  love  ? 

Why  throbs  this  tender  heart  ?     Guevara's  arm 
Is  vowed  to  thy  protection  ;  let  its  clasp 
Assure  thy  gentle  breast,  where  vain  alarms 
Now  hold  dominion. 


248  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ALAN  A. 

Would  that  they  were  vain  ! 
But  no,  Guevara.     I  can  read  our  doom 
In  the  Alcalde's  eyes.     Alas,  my  sire, 
How  little  didst  thou  think,  when  thy  strong  arm 
Upheld  thy  much-loved  child,  and  warlike  bands 
Thronged  round  their  mighty  chief,  that  ever  woe 
Would  blight  her  youthful  days  !     No  thought  of  foes 
From  distant  lands,  more  powerful  than  thyself, 
E'er  crossed  thy  dauntless  breast.     But  thou  art  gone  ; 
And  'mid  those  hills  where  once  thy  haughty  eye 
Glanced  proudly  o'er  a  tribe  whose  faithful  hearts 
Throbbed  high  to  do  thy  will,  a  helpless  few, 
Enslaved,  degraded,  hide  their  hunted  heads 
And  die  in  woe,  where  once  they  lived  in  power. 

GUEVARA. 

Her  words  are  daggers  to  my  breast  !     E'en  so 
Have  Spanish  hands  made  desolate  the  soil, 
And  trampled  on  its  free  and  happy  sons, 
And  deluged  Haytien  earth  in  Haytien  blood. 
Would  that  the  deep  remorse  which  wrings  my  heart 
Might  reach  each  Spaniard  who  has  raised  his  arm 
Against  this  hapless  race  ! 

ALANA. 

I  meant  not  to  upbraid  thee,  but  my  thoughts 
With  present  sorrow  contrast  former  bliss. 
Thou  'rt  gone,  my  father,  and  thy  helpless  child 
Quails  'neath  a  Spaniard's  glance.     Woe  for  the  land 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  249 


Which  slumbers  thus  beneath  the  oppressor's  rod  ! 
Whose  men  are  women,  and  whose  women  call 
In  vain  upon  those  men  to  nerve  their  hearts, 
And  die  or  conquer  in  their  country's  cause  ! 

ANACAONA. 

Alana,  cease,  nor  rend  thy  mother's  heart 

With  vain  complaints  !     Thy  words  renew  my  woes. 

Past  horrors  rise  again  before  my  eyes. 

ALANA. 

Forgive  me,  mother  !     Let  thy  child's  embrace 
Banish  thy  anguish  ! 

GUEVARA. 

I,  alas,  have  helped 

To  widow  such  a  mother  !     I  have  helped 
To  render  such  a  daughter  fatherless  !  [Aside. 

[Exit  ANACAONA. 
ALANA  (to  GUEVARA). 

Your  brow  is  clouded,  too.     My  rebel  tongue 
Hath  ill  expressed  the  feelings  of  my  heart, 
Since  it  offends  the  friends  whom  most  I  love. 

GUEVARA. 

No,  gentle  one  ;  each  word  of  thine  to  me 
Is  far  more  dear  than  I  can  tell.     'T  is  I 
Whom  ruthless  fate  condemns  to  grieve  and  pain 
The  maid  for  whom  I  'd  die.     Alana,  he 
Who  sees  with  envy  that  I  am  beloved 
Condemns  me  to  depart  from  thy  sweet  presence. 
32 


250  THE    NEW    WORLD. 


ALANA. 

Guevara,  leave  me  not  !     In  pity,  stay  ! 
If  your  deep  vows  of  love  were  e'er  sincere, 
Remain  !     Protect  the  hapless  Haytien  maid, 
Whose  love  and  faith  to  thee  have  caused  Roldan 
To  threaten  direst  vengeance  on  her  head  ! 

GUEVARA. 

And  did  he  threaten  thee  ?     Now,  by  the  saints, 
But  little  hinders  that  I  cast  aside 
That  honor  which  he  knows  not,  and  despatch 
The  shameless  ruffian  with  my  dagger's  point  ! 
And  did  this  chance  since  last  we  met,  my  love  ? 

ALANA. 

Scarce  an  hour  since.     He  vowed,  whoever  I  loved, 
I  should  wed  none  but  him  ;  —  vowed  with  fierce  oaths 
And  threats  against  thy  life. 

GUEVARA. 

What  saidst  thou  then  ? 

ALANA. 

What  could  I  say  ?     I  wept,  which  but  the  more 
Enraged  his  savage  heart,  because  my  tears 
Bore  witness  to  my  love. 

GUEVARA. 

Ah,  luckless  knight ! 
What  evil  star  presided  at  my  birth, 
That  thus  my  fondest  love  must  prove  a  curse  ? 
Alana,  I  must  leave  thee,  for  Roldan 
Rules  here  with  iron  sway  ;  I  have  no  power. 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  251 


ALANA. 

Forsake  me  not,  Guevara  !     By  thy  side 

I  know  no  fear  ;  but  when  thou  art  away, 

And  the  Alcalde,  with  his  sullen  brow 

And  evil-boding  eye,  stands  near,  my  heart, 

Always  full  weak,  quails  'neath  his  threatening  glance. 

Alas,  if  you  desert  me,  it  may  chance 

That,  overawed,  I  yield  me  to  despair, 

And  give  my  hand  to  him  whom  most  I  hate  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Alana,  name  not  such  a  sacrifice  ! 

ALANA. 

Remain,  and  save  me  from  it  ! 

GUEVARA. 

I  can  die 

In  your  defence,  but  I  can  do  no  more  ! 
O  for  the  feudal  band,  whose  serried  spears 
So  oft  have  been  my  pride  and  my  defence  ! 
In  far  Castile  they  linger,  while  their  lord 
Must  chafe  and  fret  beneath  a  churl's  command  ! 

DE    MOXICA. 

Time  flies,  Guevara  !     In  another  hour 
You  '11  scarce  be  safe  within  Xaragua. 

ALANA. 

Say, 
Is  his  life  in  danger  ? 

DE  MOXICA. 
They  who  cross 


252  THE    NEW   WORLD. 

» 

The  Alcalde's  path  are  seldom  safe. 

ALANA. 

Then  go  ! 
O,  haste  away,  while  I  remain, —  and  die  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Despair  not,  dearest  one  ;  we  '11  meet  again  ! 
Ere  yonder  moon  fulfils  her  destined  course, 
Before  again  her  silver  crescent  gleams 
Above  these  groves,  Guevara  will  be  here, 
To  live  or  die  for  you,  as  fate  decrees. 
Loved  one,  farewell  ! 

ALANA. 

Ah,  stay,  Guevara,  stay  ! 

GUEVARA. 

What  would  my  love  ? 

ALANA. 

Nothing  ;  but  yet  I  fear 
This  parting  is  our  last. 

GUEVARA. 

Be  firm,  fair  maid, 

Nor  heed  the  Alcalde's  threats  !  —  She  hears  me  not ! 
Quite  overwhelmed  with  grief  !     I  will  not  go 
And  leave  this  gentle  maid  in  such  despair  ! 
Come  one,  come  all  the  minions  of  Roldan, 
I  will  defy  them  all  ere  I  '11  desert 
This  unprotected  one  !     Hear  me,  my  love  ! 
Thy  tears  have  conquered  ;  here  I  will  remain 
While  my  life  lasts  ! 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  253 


DE    MOXICA. 

Guevara  !  are  you  mad  ? 
Hear  me,  Alana  !     If  you  love  this  knight, 
Or  if  you  value  your  own  life,  control 
This  passionate  grief,  and  bid  him  not  delay. 
Fear  not  Roldan  ;  for,  by  my  knightly  faith, 
You  shall  not  be  compelled  to  be  his  wife. 
But  if  to-morrow  see  my  kinsman  here 
I  cannot  answer  for  his  life. 

ALANA. 

Ah,  fly, 

Nor  heed  my  weakness  !  fly,  ere  yet  Roldan 
Pours  his  fell  vengeance  on  thy  head  ! 

DE    MOXICA. 

Ere  this, 

But  for  De  Escobar,  thy  blood  had  paid 
The  forfeit  of  thy  rashness. 

ALANA. 

Some  one  comes  ! 
It  is  Roldan  !     Ah,  save  me  ! 

(Enter  DE  ESCOBAR.) 

DE    MOXICA. 

Escobar  ! 
What  would  you  here  ? 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Moxica,  naught  with  you. 
My  errand  's  with  Guevara. 

GUEVARA. 

Well,  Seuor, 


254  THE    NEW   WORLD. 

What  would  you  with  Guevara  ? 

UE    ESCOBAR. 

To  repeat, 

As  a  command,  rny  former  friendly  warning. 
'T  is  time  you  turned  your  back  upon  Xaragua. 

GUEVARA. 

I  am  aware,  sir,  of  your  master's  will  ; 
It  needs  not  repetition  ;  1  Ve  no  choice, 
And  must  submit. 

DIS    ESCOBAR. 

My  master,  as  you  term  him, 
Like  other  men,  uses  the  power  he  has 
As  best  may  suit  his  humor.     Some  might  find 
A  thousand  whims,  which  to  their  eyes  would  seem 
Far  worthier  of  pursuit  than  is  Roldan's. 
His  whim  is  to  possess  this  Indian  maid. 
My  errand  's  not  to  vindicate  his  will, 
Nor  would  I  quarrel  with  you,  though  T.  'in  bound 
To  enforce  his  orders.     Trust  me,  Don  Hernando, 
That  this  decree,  sprung  from  Roldan's  caprice, 
Is  one  most  fitted  for  thy  real  welfare. 
Haste  to  thy  native  Spain  ;  assume  the  rank 
To  which  thy  birth  and  talents  give  thee  claim. 
Thou  art  a  noble  youth,  and  pity  't  is 
That  thou  shouldst  linger  on  these  Western  shores, 
To  lose  thy  life  in  an  ignoble  strife. 

GUEVARA. 
De  Escobar,  I  thank  you  !     Your  advice 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  355 


Is  such  as  I  should  follow,  but  my  will 

And  duty  are  at  variance.     Oft  you  've  seen 

A  bark,  whose  rowers  faintly  ply  the  oar 

Against  the  rushing  current ;  thus  with  me  ; 

Duty,  like  some  o'erwearied  oarsman,  pulls 

In  vain  towards  the  proper  haven,  while 

The  current,  inclination,  bears  me  on 

Towards  shoals  and  quicksands.     Yet  I  must  submit 

To  your  commands,  but  pray  of  you  the  grace 

To  linger  half  an  hour. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

I  will  await 

That  time  within  the  vale  where  first  we  met. 
An  escort  there  attends.     Meanwhile,  adieu. 

GUEVARA. 

Adieu,  Senor  ;  thanks  for  your  favor. 
(ExitDE  ESCOBAR.) 

Now 

There  but  remains  to  say  the  last  farewell 
To  thee,  fair  maid,  whose  image  is  enshrined 
Deep  in  my  heart ;  thou  'It  have  no  rival  there, 
Though  we  should  never  meet  again.     Weep  not, 
Or  you  '11  unman  me  quite.     Loved  one,  be  firm  ! 
I  will  return  ;  perhaps  to  overthrow 
Thy  tyrant's  power.     Good  night,  my  love,  good  night  ! 

[Exeunt  GUEVARA  and  DE  MOXICA. 

ALANA. 

Evil  's  our  parting  ;  evil  was  the  hour 


256  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


When  first  we  met  and  loved,  but  to  be  severed  ! 

Each  night  I  '11  sit  and  watch  yon  silver  moon, 

Which  moves  so  brightly,  free  from  mortal  cares, 

And  as  she  slowly  wanes  I  will  rejoice 

That  so  much  nearer  is  my  love's  return  ; 

For  when  with  slender  horns  she  faintly  beams 

Anew  along  the  sky,  he  will  be  here  ; 

Preserve  me,  gentle  Hope,  until  that  hour  ! 

Then,  if  he  come  not,  welcome,  welcome,  Death, 

Rather  than  slavery.  [Exit. 


SCENE  V. 
The  forest.     Enter  GUEVARA. 

GUEVARA. 

HERE  first  we  met,  and  here  we  should  have  parted. 

?T  is  strange  this  Western  wood-nymph  should  have  fixed 

The  heart  where  love  had  ne'er  before  the  power 

To  rivet  his  soft  bonds  !     But  they  're  secured 

Beyond  my  power  to  loosen,  and  methinks 

I  would  not  if  I  could  ;  they  are  too  dear  ! 

Yet  what  a  sacrifice  !     De  Escobar 

Has  struck  the  cnord  which  never  yet  refused 

To  answer  the  least  touch,  —  ambition  !     Ah, 

Can  I  remain  to  waste  my  youth,  my  life, 

Perchance,  my  hopes  of  high  renown, 

For  the  faint  hope  of  conquering  Roldan 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  357 


And  winning  young  Alana  ?     Yes  !     In  vain 
Ambition  holds  her  lures.     I  will  be  true 
To  her  who  loves  so  fondly  and  so  truly  ; 
True  to  myself,  —  for  could  I  e'er  know  peace 
Away  from  her  ?     I  love  this  gentle  maid 
As  knights  should  ever  love,  with  faith  and  ardor. 
Her  must  I  win  before  again  I  view 
My  native  Spain  ;  then  will  I  haste  away, 
And  show  the  Spanish  court  my  Haytien  gem,  — 
The  dearer,  that  't  was  won  with  blood  and  toil. 
(Enter  DE  ESCOBAR,  attended.) 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Guevara,  you  are  punctual.     Behold 
A  trusty  escort.     These,  with  due  respect, 
Will  guide  you  to  Cahay.     And  now  farewell. 
All  joy  attend  you  !     May  you  ne'er  behold 
Xaragua's  vales  again  !     That  wish  should  be 
The  wish  of  all  who  deem  Guevara's  honor 
Of  higher  import  than  Guevara's  pleasure. 

GUEVARA. 

Farewell,  De  Escobar  !     I  '11  think  of  thee 
As  one  well  worthy  of  the  spurs  he  wears. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

t 


33 


258  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ACT    IV. 

SCENE  I.     Before  ANACAONA'S  cottage.     ROLDAN, 
AN  AC  AON  A,  and  BEHECHIO. 

EOLDAN. 

Too  long  I  've  humbly  sued.     The  maid  must  know 
That  he  who  begs  the  grace  he  can  command 
Will  list  to  no  refusal. 

BEHECHIO. 

Spaniard,  hear  me  ! 
I  've  oft  submitted  to  your  tyranny 
Because  my  people's  lives  were  dearer  to  me 
Than  my  own  power  ;  but  this  last  insolence 
I  will  oppose  while  I  have  life.     Our  maids 
May  mate  with  Spaniards  when  it  is  their  will  ; 
But  while  Xaragua's  tribes  call  me  their  chief, 
No  daughter  of  Xaragua  shall  be  forced 
To  wed  a  SpanisrHnaster. 

ROLDAN. 

Say'st  thou  so  ? 

And  dost  thou  think  to  oppose  thy  will  to  mine  ? 
The  maid  shall  be  my  wife. 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  259 


BEHECHIO. 

Her  will  alone 
Shall  govern  her. 

ROLDAN. 

My  will  shall  govern  her, 
And  you 

ANACAONA. 

O,  cease  this  discord  !     What  avails  it  ? 

Roldan,  content  you.     You  shall  urge  your  suit 

To  her  who  must  decide  it.     Hapless  child  ! 

If  from  her  Carib  sire  she  had  received 

The  Carib  spirit,  she  were  far  more  fit 

To  wrestle  with  her  fate  !    (Approaching  the  cottage.)    Alana, 

haste, 
Come  forth  ! 

ALANA   (coming  from  the  cottage). 

What  would  you,  mother  ?     Ah  ! 

[She  perceives  ROLDAN,  and  turns  to  retire. 
ANACAONA. 

Remain. 
[Exeunt  ANACAONA  and  BEHECHIO. 

ROLDAN. 

Alana,  shun  me  not  ;  what  do  you  fear  ? 
If  those  who  love  you  are  receiver!  thus  coldly, 
How  would  you  look  upon  your  enemies  ? 
This  little  hand  declares  its  mistress'  heart, 
And  trembles  in  my  grasp  as  if  't  were  pressed 
By  venomed  snake.     Alana,  is  this  well  ? 


260  THE    NEW    WORLD 


Why  should  you  hate  me  thus  ? 

ALANA. 

I  bear  no  hate 
To  aught  on  earth,  except  my  own  existence. 

ROLDAN. 

Hate  aught  on  earth  except  its  brightest  gem  ! 
Hate  sun,  and  moon,  and  stars,  and  hide  their  rays 
'Neath  thy  displeasure,  but  shine  on  thyself, 
The  brightest  star  that  e'er  shed  smiling  hope 
Upon  a  wanderer's  heart,  and  beaconed  him 
To  shelter  and  to  joy  ! 

ALANA. 

Alas  !  alas  ! 

A  star  hid  'neath  dark  clouds,  whence  jarring  storms, 
Thunder  and  lightning  fierce,  burst  forth. 
ROLDAN. 

Fair  maid, 

Complain  not  of  those  storms,  since  thou  hast  power 
To  shed  thy  smiles,  and,  like  the  noonday  sun, 
Dispel  all  gloomy  vapors  from  the  air. 

ALANA. 

I  once  could  smile.     Those  careless  hours  are  fled. 

ROLDAN. 

Smile  upon  me,  Arana,  and  that  smile 
Shall  be  to  us  the  sign  of  peaceful  union 
Between  thy  race  and  mine. 

ALANA. 

Would  that  a  smile 


THENEWWORLD.  261 


Were  the  sole  pledge  required  ! 
ROLDAN. 

Now  aid  me,  saints  ! 

For  a  blunt  soldier's  brain  lacks  the  swift  wit 
To  match  a  woman's  humors.     (Aside.)     No,  Alana, 
Thy  wish  is  vain.     More  than  a  smile  's  required. 
This  is  the  bond  which  shall  unite  our  people. 

[Takes  her  hand;  she  withdraws  it. 
Is  this  thy  answer  ?  —  O  for  some  strong  spell 
To  chain  the  rising  dragon  in  my  breast  !  [Aside. 

Alana,  since  we  met  thou  know'st  I  've  stooped 
To  win  thy  favor  as  I  would  not  stoop 
Even  to  my  king,  though  such  humiliation 
Would  gain  a  crown.     If  I  've  seemed  harsh  at  times, 
The  fear  to  lose  thee  moved  me  to  such  madness. 
And  though  of  late  thou  hast  repulsed  my  wooing, 
It  was  not  so  when  first  I  knelt,  —  when  first 
I  told  the  tale  which  to  a  woman's  ear 
Is  ne'er  ungrateful. 

ALANA. 

True,  all  true,  Roldan  ; 
But  I  was  weak  and  foolish  ;  then  my  heart 
Knew  naught  of  love,  —  and  I  was  wrong,  —  most  wrong. 
O,  be  thy  wrath  appeased  by  this  abasement !        [Kneeling. 
Forgive  me,  and  forget  me  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Maiden,  rise  ! 
Subdue  these  childish  tremors,  and  be  firm. 


262  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


I  will  address  thy  reason,  not  thy  heart. 
Listen,  Alana,  and  weigh  well  my  words  ; 
For  on  thy  answer  hangs  the  fate  of  him 
Who  won  the  love  which  once  I  fondly  hoped 
Would  rest  on  me  ;  and  on  thy  answer  hangs, 
Perchance,  thy  people's  fate.     Dost  understand  ? 

ALANA. 

Too  well !  ^ 

ROLDAN. 

Since  Don  Hernando  now  is  banished, 
No  longer  will  his  presence  feed  the  flame 
Which  his  false  flattery  raised  within  thy  breast. 

ALANA. 

Roldan,  of  thine  own  cause  say  what  thou  wilt, 
But  think  not  to  asperse  my  absent  friend. 

ROLDAN. 

Pique  but  a  woman's  vanity,  and  straight 

She  '11  speak,  though  she  before  were  spellbound.     [Aside. 

He  's  gone,  nor  will  return  ;  ere  this  the  ship 

Which  has  received  him  spreads  her  snowy  sails 

To  catch  the  Western  breeze,  and  ploughs  the  wave 

Towards  his  native  land. 

ALANA. 

It  is  not  so  ! 

Revoke  thy  words,  Roldan,  in  charity  ! 
Say  that  thou  hast  deceived  me,  —  that  Guevara 
Is  still  upon  the  island,  —  and  I  '11  be 
Your  slave  ! 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  263 


ROLDAN. 

What  frenzy  seizes  you  ?     Is  't  strange 
That  this  gallant,  finding  no  longer  hope 
To  mar  my  wishes,  has  at  length  obeyed 
The  viceroy's  orders,  and  embarked  for  Spain  ? 

ALANA. 

Thy  words  have  wellnigh  killed  me  !     Let  thy  sword 
Complete  the  sacrifice  !     If  this  be  so, 
Where  shall  I  look  for  faith  ?  —  I  '11  not  believe  it  ! 
He  is  the  soul  of  truth  !     'T  is  some  foul  craft 
Of  thine,  Roldan,  to  crush  still  more  my  heart, 
And  mould  it  to  thy  will.     But  thou  shalt  fail  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Hear  me,  Alana, 

ALANA. 

Off  !     I  will  not  hear  thee  ! 

ROLDAN. 

By  Heaven,  thou  shalt  both  hear  and  answer  me 
In  milder  mood  than  this  !     A  soldier's  patience 
Is  ever  brief,  and  mine  is  of  the  briefest. 
Tax  not  my  mood  too  far,  for  thy  weak  hand 
Has  not  the  skill  to  rein  it. 

ALANA. 

'T  is  a  task 
I  would  not  seek. 

ROLDAN. 

Hear  me  !     Thou  seest  thy  race, 
Where'er  they  Ve  sought  to  oppose  the  Spanish  arms, 


264  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


Fall  victims  to  their  rashness,  and  their  homes 
Become  the  conqueror's  prize.     Xaragua's  plains 
Have  yet  escaped,  for  peace  still  reigns  between 
The  Spaniards  and  thy  tribe  ;  but  this  may  vanish. 
Perchance  the  embers  now  exist  of  discord, 
And  who  can  say  how  soon  a  blast  may  rise 
To  fan  them  into  fury  ?     Know'st  thou  not 
That  ofttimes  when  the  air  is  calm,  the  sun 
Without  a  cloud,  and  nature  all  at  peace, 
Bursts  forth  the  dread  Urican,  whose  fell  breath 
Brings  universal  desolation  ?     Know 
Man's  passions  are  Uricans,  deadlier  far 
Than  those  the  warring  elements  produce. 
They  have  swept  o'er  this  island,  but  have  left 
One  little  spot  of  peace,  —  this  blooming  province. 
Yet  here  they  may  burst  forth,  and  strip  these  vales 
Of  all  their  charms.     Wouldst  thou  avert  the  doom  ? 

ALANA. 

At  cost  of  life. 

ROLDAN. 

I  would  that  thou  shouldst  live, 
Not  die  for  it.     Behechio  has  resolved 
He  '11  not  bestow  thee  on  me,  save  thy  will 
Accompanies  thy  hand. 

ALANA. 

Ah  !  said  he  so  ? 

Then  there  is  help.     O,  I  was  most  unjust 
To  think  that  he  would  see  me  sacrificed  ! 


THENEWWORLD.  265 


ROLDAN. 

Each  word  she  utters  more  inflames  my  wrath  !          [Aside. 

If  thou  art  wise,  be  silent,  and  attend. 

Behechio  has  threatened  this,  and  I 

Have  sworn  thou  shalt  be  mine.     Canst  thou  divine 

How  this  will  end  ? 

ALAN  A. 

Would  I  could  answer,  No  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Behechio  resists  me  ;  thy  weak  race 
Stand  forth  to  oppose  the  Spaniards,  — to  oppose 
Their  unarmed  bodies  to  the  sword  and  spear 
Of  fatal  steel  ;  while  from  the  impervious  mail 
Their  arrows  fall  innoxious.      Say,  Alana, 
How  must  this  end  ? 

ALANA. 

O  man  of  violence, 

Destruction  hangs  upon  thy  lips,  and  death 
And  desolation  seem  but  sport  to  thee  ! 
Where  must  this  end,  you  ask  ?     Not  where  you  wish. 
Thou  know'st  not,  Spaniard,  where  it  shall  begin  ; 
For  when  thy  hand  is  raised  against  my  tribe, 
I  will  commence  the  work,  and  in  my  breast 
Plant  the  first  steel  that  's  bared,  ere  clasp  thy  hand 
Red  with  my  people's  blood. 

ROLDAN. 

And  will  thy  death 

Avert  thy  people's  fate  ?     No  !  by  the  saints, 
34 


266  THENEWWORLD. 


If  thou  shouldst  dare  the  deed  thou  threats!  me  with, 

I  will  do  one  more  terrible  !     Thine  eyes 

Should  rest  in  dying  on  thy  noble  mother, 

And  hundreds  of  thy  friends  in  chains  around  her, 

Writhing  in  tortures  such  as  fiends  invent 

To  aid  man's  vengeance.     But  why  do  I  threat  ? 

Life  is  too  dear  to  one  so  young  and  fair, 

To  be  resigned  so  rashly.     Thou  hast  heard 

The  horrors  of  resistance  ;  listen  now 

To  the  reverse.     Consent  to  be  my  bride. 

My  rank  and  power  will  shield  thy  native  vales 

From  the  oppression  which  now  desolates 

The  rest  of  Hayti  ;  thou,  fair  maid,  wilt  be 

The  pledge  of  peace  and  faith.     This  little  hand 

Shall  form  a  chain  of  concord,  stronger  far 

Than  all  the  gold  which  Hayti's  isle  can  boast, 

Though  it  were  forged  in  links  which  might  withstand 

A  giant's  grasp.     I  know  thou  lov'st  me  not ; 

I  know  the  heart  is  gone  whose  wealth  I  sought ; 

Yet  doubt  I  not  in  time  it  would  return 

To  its  liege  lord.     Say,  when  thy  homes  are  burned, 

Thy  friends,  or  dead  or  dying,  lie  around, 

What  then  will  it  avail  thee  that  this  woe 

Springs  from  thy  love  to  one,  who,  far  away, 

Knows  not  the  desolation  he  has  caused  ? 

ALANA. 

Roldan,  you  urge  me  cruelly.     Alas  ! 

I  know  your  power  ;  I  know  my  people's  weakness. 

But  press  not  my  decision  ;  give  me  proof 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  267 


Of  the  devotion  you  so  oft  profess. 
The  summer  moon  is  in  her  glory  now  ; 
Wait  till  she  vanishes,  and  the  next  moon 
Uprears  her  slender  horns.     Be  generous. 
Leave  me  in  peace  till  then.     Grant  me  this  boon, 
And  I  will  think  it  proves  thy  love  as  deep 
As  oft  thou  'st  sworn. 

ROLDAN. 

Alana,  be  it  so. 

Weigh  well  my  words,  nor  deem  them  empty  threats  ; 
For  know,  my  head  has  never  planned  the  deed 
My  hand  was  slow  to  execute.     Farewell  ! 

[Exit  ROLDAN. 

ALANA. 

I  do  believe  thee.     Not  the  incarnate  fiend, 
Whose  doings  oft  I  've  heard  thy  followers  tell, 
And  tremble  as  they  told,  had  less  remorse 
To  do  the  evil  deeds  in  which  he  joys, 
Than  thou  and  thine  to  follow  in  his  steps. 
(Reenter  BEHECHIO  and  ANACAONA.) 

ANACAONA. 

Thy  tyrant  's  gone. 

ALANA. 

He  has. 

ANACAONA. 

Thy  tears  attest 
The  harshness  of  his  words. 

BEHECHIO. 

Poor,  trembling  maid, 


268  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


Would  I  could  save  thee  from  the  woes  that  hang 
O'er  our  devoted  race  ! 

ALANA. 

I  'm  doomed  to  be 
The  foremost  victim. 

ANACAONA. 

Say  not  so,  my  child  ! 

The  Alcalde's  wooing  's  harsh,  yet  by  his  threats 
He  means  but  to  affright  thee. 

ALANA. 

O  mother,  you  are  strangely  blind  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

You  're  right, 

And  you,  Anacaona,  wrong.     Alas  ! 
Will  naught  remove  the  film  that  from  your  eyes 
Shrouds  every  danger  ?     Caonabo's  death 
You  can  excuse,  can  see  your  daughter  wronged, 
And  vainly  judge  his  enemies  and  hers 
By  your  own  purity  of  heart.     'T  is  woe 
That  thy  own  virtues  must  be  made  the  snares 
To  entrap  thee  !     Yes,  Alana,  much  I  doubt 
If  aught  but  death  can  save  thee  from  Roldan, 
And  should  rejoice  if  thou  couldst  school  thy  heart 
To  hear  his  wooing  patiently. 

ALANA. 

I  've  gained 

Some  short  delay,  and  promised,  when  the  time 
He  's  granted  at  my  suit  shall  have  expired, 
To  answer,  ay  or  no,  his  urgent  suit. 


THE    NEW  WORLD.  269 


BEHECHIO. 

And  if  you  answer,  No  ? 

ALANA. 

He  threats  with  fire 
And  swift-avenging  sword  to  desolate 
The  province. 

BEHECHIO. 

Doubt  not  he  '11  perform  his  threat. 

ANACAONA. 

Why  shouldst  thou  think  so  ?     He  has  proved  our  friend. 

But  thou,  Behechio,  art  as  suspicious 

As  I  am  rash  ;  we  should  exchange  our  natures  ; 

The  first  should  be  the  woman's  fault  ;  the  last 

Is  far  too  oft  the  man's.  — My  gentle  one, 

Thy  sorrows  are  my  own  !     Thy  every  tear 

Wrings  my  fond  heart !     Would  that  I  had  the  power 

To  banish  thy  distress,  and  give  thee  joy  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

Poor  fated  dove  !  Thou  must  yield  to  the  blast 
Of  power  which  howls  around,  and  sweeps  away 
Our  rights,  our  wealth,  our  homes,  our  hearts'  best 

treasures, 

As  they  were  autumn  leaves  !     Yes,  thou  must  yield, 
And  wed  Roldan,  or  wed  with  misery  ! 

ALANA. 

What  greater  misery  than  to  be  his  wife  ? 

BEHECHIO. 

Would  it  be  less  to  see  his  threats  fulfilled  ? 


270  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ALAN A. 

Yet  there  's  one  hope  !     Guevara  will  return  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

Call'st  thou  that  hope,  to  see  thy  lover  fall 

A  victim  to  the  Alcalde's  rage  ?     'T  were  best 

For  him  and  you  he  never  should  return. 

Subdue  these  tears  ;  my  words  are  meant  in  kindness. 

Thou  ne'er  shouldst  need  to  weep  had  I  the  power 

To  master  these  intruders.     List  my  counsel ;  — 

'T  is  given  in  love  and  truth  ;  —  forget  Guevara 

ALANA. 

Forget  him  !     Never  !     Yet,  my  dearest  friend, 

Think  me  not  wilful.     Though  Guevara's  love 

Is  my  sole  happiness,  could  I  but  find 

Some  charm  which  from  my  memory  could  erase 

His  cherished  image,  gladly  would  I  seize 

Its  aid.     But  no  !     The  blasts  of  time,  of  care, 

Of  withering  sorrow,  may  pass  o'er  my  heart, 

Yet  leave  in  its  first  power  my  youthful  love  ! 

BEHECHIO. 

Ah,  thou  art  young,  and  know  not  how  the  touch 
Of  time,  of  care,  and  sorrow  can  remove 
Emotions  which  to  youth  seem  everlasting  ! 
This  time  alone  can  teach.     But  thou  hast  seen 
What  turmoil  here  Guevara's  short  sojourn 
Produced  ;  —  reflect  what  misery  must  ensue 
From  his  return.     Seek  not  to  lure  him  back. 
Roldan  has  wealth  and  power  :  his  haughty  heart 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  271 

Thy  charms  have  conquered,  and  thy  voice  can  rule. 
Is  it  not  triumph  to  behold  this  man. 
Before  whom  others  tremble,  kneel  to  thee, 
And  own  thy  word  a  law  ?     Resume  that  power. 
One  smile,  one  word  of  kindness,  would  subdue 
His  tiger  mood. 

ALANA. 

Sooner  I  'd  die  than  wed  him  ! 

ANACAONA. 

'T  is  cruelty  to  urge  it  !     No,  my  child  ; 
Fear  not  thou  wilt  be  sacrificed  ;  some  aid 
Will  yet  arrive.     So  beautiful,  so  young, 
Who  could  be  steeled  against  thy  misery  ? 

BEHECHIO. 

It  is  her  youth  and  beauty  which  are  doomed 

To  cause  that  misery.     But  words  are  vain. 

The  storm  which  must  overwhelm  us  darkly  lowers 

Above  our  heads.     Too  truly  did  my  heart 

Forewarn  me  that  Guevara  would  become 

The  hastener  of  our  doom,  and  its  still  voice 

Is  fatally  attested  !     If  his  steps 

Again  disturb  our  vales,  the  blood  of  those 

Who  through  his  fatal  passion  fall  must  rest 

Upon  his  guilty  head  ;  and  may  my  curse 

Cleave  to  his  soul 

ALANA. 

Hold  !    Curse  him  not  !    My  love 
Should  shield  Guevara  from  your  wrath  ! 


272  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


BEHECHIO. 

Fond  maid, 

Thy  woman's  heart,  which  deems  that  all  must  yield 
To  its  weak  passion,  cannot  waste  a  thought 
Upon  the  woes  of  others.     Go  !  enjoy 
Thy  dream  of  love  !     Recall  the  Spanish  youth, 
And  let  his  kiss  banish  the  short-lived  tears 
My  words  call  forth,  while  bleeding  round  thee  lie 
The  hapless  victims  of  thy  selfish  passion, 
Whose  dying  eyes  shall  curse  thee  when  their  lips 
Have  lost  the  power  of  utterance  !  [Exit  BEHECHIO. 

ANACAONA. 

Woe  is  me  ! 

Where'er  I  turn,  dissension  dogs  my  steps  ! 
Wealth,  power,  and  rank,  and  joy  were  lost  to  me 
When  false  tongues  lured  my  husband  to  his  doom, 
And  now  my  only  hope  of  happiness, 
My  loved  Alana,  droops.     Ah,  woe  is  me  ! 

[Exit,  leading  ALAN  A. 


SCENE  II. 

The  forest  near  ANACAONA'S  cottage.     Enter  GUEVARA. 
GUEVARA. 

AND  now  methinks  I  'm  at  the  height  of  madness  ! 
The  man,  who  loses  'neath  a  foaming  torrent 
A  gem  of  price,  and  straightway  seeks  the  wave, 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  273 


And  vainly  plunges  to  regain  his  treasure, 

Is  not  more  wild  than  I.     I  am  resolved 

Upon  a  desperate  enterprise  ;  my  life 

Each  moment  is  at  stake,  and  I  must  hold 

Both  head  and  hand  alert  in  its  defence. 

Not  the  loud  thunder  in  its  sternest  peal, 

Not  the  fierce  lightning  rushing  to  destroy, 

Are  more  intent  upon  the  work  of  death, 

Or  more  relentless,  than  Roldan,  if  once 

His  will  or  interest  spur  him  on.     I  come 

To  win  or  die.     Not  knightlike  may  I  stand 

And  face  my  foe,  but,  like  the  treacherous  thief, 

Am  fain  to  gain  by  stratagem  my  treasure. 

Ah,  yonder  stands  the  bower  where  dwells  my  love  ! 

Perchance  in  sleep  Guevara  is  forgot ; 

Perchance  she  wakes  and  weeps.     I  '11  summon  her  ; 

A  storm  approaches,  and  no  other  roof 

Must  give  me  shelter. 

(ALAN A  appears  from  the  cottage.} 

But  she  comes,  uncalled. 
I  '11  play  the  eavesdropper,  and,  standing  near, 
Learn  if  she  think  of  me.  [Conceals  himself. 

ALANA    (coming  forward). 

I  cannot  sleep, 

For  cruel  dreams  make  slumber  horrible. 
Wild  clouds  whirl  o'er  the  moon,  to  whose  decline 
I  look  for  joy.     Guevara,  dost  thou  too 

Gaze  with  impatience  on  the  slow  career 
35 


274  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


Of  yon  pale  orb  ?     Dost  thou  too  count  the  hours 
Which  must  elapse  before  another  moon 
Shall  rise  in  the  blue  heavens,  and  guide  thee  back 
To  sad  Alana  ? 

GUEVARA  (discovering  himself). 
Let  this  fond  embrace 
Solve  all  thy  doubts,  and  banish  all  thy  sadness. 

ALANA. 

Guevara  !     Here  !     O,  this  is  happiness  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Short-lived,  I  fear  ;  but  it  is  happiness. 
There  's  care  upon  thy  brow. 

ALANA. 

Nay,  heed  it  not. 

Say,  how  in  safety  have  you  reached  me,  how 
Evaded  the  Alcalde's  vigilance  ? 

GUEVARA, 

Thy  heart  should  tell  thee  how  imperious  Love 

Fetters  Time's  wings.     O,  wearily  the  hours 

Have  passed  since  last  we  met,  and  my  fond  heart  — 

And  proud  as  fond  —  no  longer  could  submit 

To  banishment  !     And  for  my  safety,  know 

That  Love  inspires  his  votaries  with  wiles 

No  other  power  could  teach. 

ALANA. 

How  dost  thou  hope 
To  escape  the  Alcalde's  eye  ? 

GUEVARA. 

Thou,  dearest  maid, 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  275 


Shalt  aid  to  save  thyself  and  me. 

ALANA. 

Say,  how  ? 
What  can  I  do  ?     Speak. 

GUEVARA. 

First,  thy  mother's  love 

Must  screen  me  from  my  foe  ;  and,  next,  thy  care 
Must  seek  my  trusty  kinsman,  De  Moxica. 

ALANA. 

I  '11  fly,  Guevara,  to  perform  thy  will, 

For  fear  some  unseen  chance  should  wreck  my  hopes, 

Ere  they  are  fairly  launched  upon  this  sea 

Of  doubt  and  danger.     Enter  thou  the  cot. 

[Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  III. 

Another  part  of  the  forest.     A  violent  storm ;  thunder  and  lightning. 
Enter  a  number  of  Spaniards. 

*  FIRST    SPANIARD. 

THE  samts  protect  us  !     O,  that  I  were  safe 
In  Andalusia's  vales  !     Not  all  the  gold 
That  e'er  on  Hayti's  island  has  been  found 
Should  tempt  me  back  to  face  these  hurricanes. 

SECOND    SPANIARD. 

Ah,  Madre  de  Dios  !  another  flash  ! 


276  THE    NEW   WORLD. 

I  'm  almost  blinded  !  Holy  Mother,  hear  ! 
Save  me  this  night,  and  to  thy  shrine  I  vow 
Six  waxen  torches  !  Virgin,  save  thy  child  ! 

FIRST    SPANIARD. 

And  I  on  Saint  lago's  shrine  will  place 
An  ounce  of  gold  !  Sancte  lago,  ora, 
Ora  pro  nobis  ! 

THIRD    SPANIARD. 

Think'st  thou  this  wild  storm 
Can  make  the  Alcalde  tremble  ? 

FIRST    SPANIARD. 

He  has  cause, 

As  well  as  we  who  've  so  long  done  his  bidding. 
If  I  can  'scape  the  dangers  of  this  night, 
I'll  serve  some  leader  of  more  tender  conscience. 

SECOND    SPANIARD. 

I  ask  no  better  leader  than  Roldan  ; 
But  since  he  has  submitted  to  Columbus, 
And  gained  his  office  and  his  lands,  I  think 
He  plays  the  judge  upon  his  ancient  comrades, 
Who  fought  for  him  when  he  was  landless.     Ah, 
Another  flash  !  — another  stunning  peal  ! 
Sure  there  's  some  judgment  in  this  hurricane  ! 
Hark  ye,  rny  friends,  you  know  the  young  Guevara  ? 

FIRST    SPANIARD. 

Ay,  we  do  so  ;  of  noble  blood  is  he 
As  any  in  Castile,  and  ever  bore  him 
Knightlike  to  high  and  low.  But  what  of  him  ? 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  377 


SECOND    SPANIARD. 

You  know  that  jealousy  moved  the  Alcalde 

To  banish  him,  and  some  have  dared  to  whisper 

That  there  was  danger  of  foul  play.     Think  you 

He  's  been  despatched,  and  Heaven  has  sent  this  turmoil 

To  awe  the  guilty  ? 

FIRST    SPANIARD. 

Nay,  comrade,  Heaven  forbid  ! 

THIRD    SPANIARD. 

Perchance  his  wrathful  spirit  rides  the  blast  ! 
Ave  Maria  !  guard  thy  votary  ! 

SECOND    SPANIARD. 

Come,  come,  my  friends  ;  we  shall  be  needed  elsewhere. 
Let  's  haste  for  shelter  to  the  Alcalde's  quarters. 
The  hurricane,  I  trust,  has  spared  that,  though 
It  has  o'erthrown  our  frailer  dwellings.     Come  ! 

[Exeunt  Spaniards. 
(Enter  BEHECHIO,  followed  by  Indians.) 

BEHECHIO. 

Rage  on,  ye  winds,  and  ye,  terrific  fires, 

Seek  our  oppressors'  hearts  !     Sure  Heaven  in  wrath 

Hath  moved  earth,  air,  and  water  to  avenge 

The  white  man's  crimes.     Not  in  the  memory 

Of  Hayti's  oldest  sons  hath  such  wild  war 

Ere  raged  upon  our  island.     Hated  race  ! 

All  things  combine  to  desolate  our  peace 

While  they  remain.     O,  list,  ye  raging  blasts  ! 

Bear  off  upon  your  wings  of  might  each  trace 


278  THENEWWORLD. 

Of  Spanish  power,  and  I  will  bless  your  rage, 
And  glory  in  my  devastated  vales, 

For  hope  and  freedom  will  be  ours  again  !  [Exeunt. 

(Enter  GUEVARA.) 

GUEVARA. 

With  joy  I  marked  each  tint  of  daylight  fade  ; 

With  joy  I  marked  the  twilight  usher  in 

The  friendly  night.     But  such  a  night  !     Methinks 

The  fiends  of  hell  shriek  in  the  rushing  blast, 

And  ride  upon  the  lightning.     Ah,  a  crash  ! 

A  shriek  !     Alana's  voice  !    (ALANA  rushes  across.)     Stay 

thee,  rny  love  ; 
What  terror  wings  thy  steps  ? 

ALANA. 

Is  't  thou,  Guevara  ? 

I  knew  thee  not,  for  haste  and  deadly  fear 
Bewildered  me. 

GUEVARA. 

Forgive  my  ignorance 

And  blind  impatience,  which  exposed  thee  thus 
To  storms  and  dangers. 

ALANA. 

See  !     I  am  unharmed. 
But  as  I  hurried  homeward,  a  tall  tree, 
Rent  by  the  storm,  shivered,  and  groaned,  and  fell 
Just  as  I  bounded  past  it.     I  have  done 
Thy  errand  safely.     All  is  well  prepared, 
Thy  kinsman  bids  me  say.     Near  to  my  home, 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  279 

And  unsuspected  by  our  foes,  exists 

A  wondrous  cave  :  there  will  I  hide  thee  ;  there 

At  night  conduct  thy  kinsman  and  his  friends. 

[  Thunder  and  lightning. 
GUEVARA. 

The  heavens  seem  rent  asunder  ! 

ALANA. 

Save,  O,  save  me  ! 

GUEVARA. 

My  gentle  one,  could  love's  protecting  arms 
Ward  off  the  storms  of  life,  here  wert  thou  safe. 
But  calm  these  fears,  my  love  ;  a  forest  maid 
Should  bear  a  stouter  heart.     That  frightful  shock 
Has  passed.     Look  up,  and  let  us  hie  away. 
Thou  hast  been  fleet  enough  when  I  pursued, 
My  forest  bird  !  fly  from  the  storm  as  fleetly. 

[Exeunt. 


280  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


ACT     V. 

SCENE  I.     In  ROLDAN'S  dwelling.     ROLDAN  and  DE  ESCOBAR 
discovered. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

HATH  your  suit  prospered  since  your  rival  went  ? 

ROLDAN. 

In  time  she  may  endure  me.     I  confess 

I  much  mistook  this  maid.     She  's  far  more  bold 

Than  her  soft  air  bespeaks  her.     I  supposed 

A  few  harsh  words  would  bend  her  to  my  will, 

As  bends  the  willow  to  the  rushing  blast, 

But  she  withstands  my  threats  with  threats  as  dire. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

You  will  have  other  work  anon. 
ROLDAN. 

How  so  ? 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

Your  dealing  with  Guevara  has  aroused 
The  wrath  of  many  of  your  sometime  friends, 
Whose  birth,  like  his,  is  noble.     They  complain 
Of  insult  to  Castilian  blood,  from  one 


T  H  E    N  E  W   W  0  R  L  D  .  281 


ROLDAN. 

Ne'er  mouth  it,  man  !     I  know  what  thou  wouldst  say, 

And  value  not  these  whims  of  birth.     The  first 

Who  raised  this  barrier  of  nobility, 

To  lord  it  o'er  his  brethren,  must  have  been 

Of  race  as  low  as  they,  and  or  by  wealth 

Or  valiant  deeds  achieved  this  boasted  rank. 

'T  is  ever  to  the  founder  of  their  race 

That  nobles  turn  to  boast  their  ancestry, 

And  therefore  those  whom  Fortune  aids  to  rise 

Are,  by  their  own  confession,  of  more  worth 

Than  those  who  take  her  favors  by  descent. 

Think'st  thou  I  care  how  my  proud  followers 

May  chafe  against  my  will  ?     Ay,  let  them  fret  ! 

'T  is  but  the  streamlet  dashing  'gainst  the  rock. 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

'T  is  more.     Your  pardon,  but  I  've  proved  your  friend. 

I  tell  you,  sullen  brows  and  swelling  hearts 

Must  not  be  urged  too  far,  or  rashly  trusted. 

These  knights  are  men  of  action,  prompt  to  ire, 

Fierce  to  resent  an  insult  to  themselves 

Or  to  their  privilege,  and  this  they  deem 

Outraged  by  De  Guevara's  banishment. 

ROLDAN. 

Dost  thou  expect  me  to  recall  Guevara, 
And  show  these  cavaliers  my  penitence 
For  following  my  own  will  instead  of  his  ? 
36 


282  THE    NEW  WORLD. 


DE    ESCOBAR. 

You  must  both  watch  and  soothe  these  murmurers. 

ROLDAN. 

And  stoop  to  sue  their  pardon  for  this  sin  ? 

DE    ESCOBAR. 

You  could  stoop  low  enough  when  interest 
Required  that  you  should  win  their  aid  ;  and  now 
A  little  courtesy  may  well  be  spared 
To  those  who  've  served  you  bravely. 
(A  soldier  rushes  in.) 
ROLDAN. 

How  is  this  ? 

SOLDIER. 

Angels  protect  us  !     'T  was  his  ghost  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Whose  ghost  ? 

Speak,  quick,  or  I  '11  despatch  thy  quaking  soul 
Forth  from  its  earthly  covering,  that  thou 
Mayst  ne'er  fear  ghost  again  !     What  wouldst  thou  say  ? 

SOLDIER. 

Seiior,  the  blast  o'erthrew  my  hut  ;  I  fled, 

But,  by  the  horrors  of  the  storm  confused, 

I  knew  not  whither.     Suddenly  a  flash 

Showed  me  beneath  the  trees  a  stately  form 

With  ghastly  face  ;  —  't  was  Don  Hernando's  spectre  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Thou  gaping  idiot,  dost  thou  neglect 

A  soldier's  duty,  — let  a  stranger  pass  thee 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  283 


Without  a  challenge,  — then  with  senseless  clamor 

And  tales  of  ghosts  think  to  blind  scrutiny  ? 

Hence  with  thy  fears  !     Yet  stay,  where  saw'st  thou  this  ? 

SOLDIER. 

Between  this  and  the  princess'  dwelling. 

ROLDAN. 

So! 
It  moved  that  way  ? 

SOLDIER. 

My  lord,  I  saw  it  sink 
Into  the  earth. 

ROLDAN. 

Thou  'rt  certain  of  the  spot  ? 

SOLDIER. 

g 

I  knew  not  where  I  was,  until  the  lightning 
Disclosed  the  cottage  through  the  trees. 
ROLDAN. 

Keep  safe 

This  wondrous  vision.     Breathe  it  not  again, 
Or,  by  my  life,  thy  tongue  shall  pay  the  forfeit  ! 
I  would  not  have  my  trustier  followers 
Infected  by  thy  fears.     Go.     Wait  without.      [Exit  soldier. 
Guevara  has  returned  !     Yon  trembling  fool 
Has  seen  him.     Why  he  prates  thus  of  a  spectre 
I  wonder  much.     Would  it  were  so  indeed  ! 
This  needs  attention.  —  Sank  into  the  earth  ?  — 
I  Ve  heard  some  whisper  of  a  cavern,  filled 
With  treasures  of  the  tribe,  nor  heeded  it. 


284  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


But  this  new  treasure  must  be  looked  to.     We 
Must  learn  what  hopes  he  has.     Don  Adrian 
Will  know  his  covert.     Cautiously,  my  friend. 
Find  if  my  soldiers  have  been  tampered  with. 
At  night  yon  fool  shall  guide  us  to  the  place 
Of  his  encounter.     We  must  find  this  cave. 
Lose  not  an  hour.     You  test  these  malecontents. 
I  '11  to  Anacaona's  cottage,  there 
To  seek  this  ghost  that  haunts  my  timid  bride. 

[Exeunt, 


SCENE  II. 

Before  ANACAONA'S  dwelling.     Enter  ALANA.  from  the  cottage. 

ALANA. 

THE  storm  has  long  since  passed,  yet  still  I  tremble 
As  when  its  fury  raged.     Guevara  says 
A  forest  girl  should  never  know  such  fears  ; 
But  Spaniard  and  Xaraguan  last  night 
Trembled  alike,  nor  blushed  to  own  their  terrors. 
(Enter  ROLDAN.) 

ROLDAN. 

Fair  maid,  methinks  you  would  supplant  the  sun, 
So  bright  your  eyes  are  beaming,  while  his  rays 
Still  sleep  behind  a  night  of  clouds. 

ALANA. 

The  storm 


THE    NEW  WORLD.  285 


Struck  horror  to  my  heart.     I  could  not  rest. 
Even  when  its  fury  ceased. 

ROLDAN. 

Would  thou  couldst  know 
The  hurricane  of  love  which  in  my  breast 
You  doom  to  rage  with  unabated  fury  ! 

ALANA. 

Must  I  remind  you  of  your  promise  ? 

ROLDAN. 

No. 

I  have  not  yet  transgressed  it.     When  I  said 
I  would  not  urge  your  answer,  I  reserved 
A  lover's  privilege  to  plead  my  cause 
And  sue  for  favor.     Have  you  ever  thought 
On  our  last  meeting  ? 

ALANA. 

Can  you  doubt  it  ? 

ROLDAN. 

Ay; 

'T  was  possible  that  some  more  welcome  therne 
Engrossed  all  place  within  your  breast. 

ALANA. 

Ah,  me  ! 

Can  he  suspect  ?     There  's  meaning  in  his  eye. 
I  must  appear  unmoved.   (Aside.)     Did  but  my  will 
Hold  even  course  with  duty,  I  had  thought 
More  deeply  on  that  meeting  ;  as  it  is, 
What  could  efface  it  from  my  memory  ? 


286  THE    NEW    WORLD. 


ROLDAN. 

She  shrinks  beneath  my  glance.      (Aside.)     And  I  may 
hope  ? 

ALANA. 

Why  shouldst  thou  seek  my  love,  when  maids  as  fair 
Each  moment  meet  thy  view,  who,  proud  as  fair, 
Would  glory  in  thy  choice. 

ROLDAN. 

Ah,  stubborn  girl  ! 

You  know  your  power,  —  know  that  my  faithful  heart 
Is  yours  alone  ;   so  scruple  not  to  jest 
Of  those  who  cannot  rival  your  young  charms. 

ALANA. 

What  shall  I  say  ?     The  time  is  opportune 

To  affect  submission,  and  thus  turn  aside 

Suspicion,  if  he  harbour  it.     Alas, 

'T  will  be  a  bitter  task  !     (Aside.)     Methinks,  Roldan, 

That  flattery  must  be  dear  to  Spanish  dames, 

Since  you,  who  call  yourself  a  plain,  blunt  warrior, 

Invoke  its  aid  so  oft.     A  Haytien  girl, 

Used  to  sincerity,  may  be  forgiven 

For  doubting, 

ROLDAN, 

Why,  I  Ve  wooed  thee  with  soft  words 
And  with  harsh  threats.  What  will  subdue  thy  heart  ? 
Speak,  and  I  pledge  my  soul  to  win  the  spell ! 

ALANA. 

In  truth,  I  could  be  grateful  if  your  love 


THENEWWORLD.  287 


Were  more  like  reason,  nor  so  wildly  varied  ; 
First  seeking  through  my  vanity  to  win, 
And  next  to  crush  me  by  ungoverned  fury. 

ROLDAN. 

And  if  I  rule  my  conduct  by  your  will 

ALANA. 

Nay,  now  your  question  overleaps  your  promise. 
The  moon  has  not  yet  waned. 

ROLDAN. 

Grant  me  one  kiss, 
A  pledge  of  hope  and  sweet  forgiveness  !     (She  shrinks,  and 

turns  away.)    Traitress  ! 

Think'st  thou  I  cannot  pierce  the  shallow  wiles 
By  which  thou  seek'st  to  blind  me  ?     Tremble,  girl  ! 
I  know  Guevara  has  returned  ;  I  know 
Thy  mother  shelters  him.     He  has  abused 
My  former  mercy,  and  his  doom  is  sealed 
By  his  and  thy  own  folly.      (ALANA  kneels  to  him.)     Off, 

I  say, 
Nor  hope  I  will  relent ! 

ALANA. 

Mercy,  Roldan  ! 

O,  spare  him  !     Spare  Guevara  !     Wreak  thy  rage 
Upon  my  head  ! 

ROLDAN. 

On  thee  ?     No,  thou  shalt  live 
To  glut  my  vengeance,  —  live  to  curse  thy  life  ! 


288  THENEWWORLD. 


ALANA. 

It  is  already  cursed,  and  I  am  cursed  ! 
O,  plant  thy  dagger  in  my  heart,  and  take 
My  blessing  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Thou  shalt  live  to  bless  my  sight 
With  agonies  that  martyrs  never  knew. 
Thy  lover's  corse  shall  blacken  in  thy  view, 
And  thou  shalt  gaze  upon  him  till  thine  eyes 
Stiffen  with  horror. 

ALANA. 

O,  be  merciful  ! 

Let  but  Guevara  live,  and  any  doom 
Thou  canst  name  for  myself  I  will  endure. 

ROLDAN. 
When  you  can  pledge  yourself  to  be  my  wife 

ALANA. 

O,  no,  no,  no  !  So  great  a  sacrifice,  — 
Can  I  submit  ?  —  O,  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 
Kinsmen  and  friends,  where  are  ye  ?  O  Guevara  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Alana,  calm  this  frenzy.     If  to  save 
Guevara  be  your  choice,  swear  to  obey 
My  wishes.     You  are  powerless.     Think  well. 
Another  hour  shall  see  this  dagger's  point 
Drenched  in  Guevara's  blood.     You  tremble  :  swear  ! 
Do  you  still  hesitate  ?     Now,  by  the  saints, 
If  I  'm  not  quick  obeyed,  thy  rebel  blood 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  289 


Shall  flow  before  Guevara's  !     I  '11  not  brook 

Longer  to  be  a  prey  to  woman's  caprice. 

One  stroke  shall  set  me  free.  [She  faints. 

So,  my  unruly  tongue  's  o'erleaped  the  mark, 

And,  'stead  of  forcing  her  into  compliance, 

Has  driven  her  senses  from  her.     Sure  my  fate 

Decrees  this  stubborn  girl  to  be  my  curse  ! 

[Bears  ALANA  into  the  cottage. 


SCENE  III. 

The  cavern.     GUEVARA  discovered,  as  just  awakened  from  slumber. 
GUEVARA. 

HERE,  like  a  beast  of  prey  within  his  lair, 

I  couch,  and  sleep,  and  wait  the  friendly  darkness, 

Which  brings  me  freedom  and  the  breath  of  heaven. 

I  know  not  whether  noon  gleams  in  the  sky, 

Or  night,  with  drooping  lid,  hangs  o'er  the  earth  ; 

For,  through  my  fevered  dreams,  my  unchained  thoughts 

In  minutes  have  performed  the  deeds  of  hours. 

At  last  a  sound  invades  my  tomb  ;  a  rustling 

As  of  a  young  bird's  wing  among  the  boughs. 

(Enter  ALANA.) 

'T  is  night,  't  is  night  ;  for,  lo  !   my  evening  star 
Gleams  through  the  shades,  and  makes  this  sepulchre 
Her  throne.     O  my  beloved,  I  may  look 

Into  thine  eyes'  pure  light But  how  is  this  ? 

37 


290  THE    NEW    WORLD. 

No  smile  upon  thy  lip  ?  thy  cheek's  warm  glow 

Quite  faded  ?     Speak  !    I  'm  tortured  by  such  fears 

ALAN  A. 

We  are  betrayed  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Betrayed  ?    How  ?    When  ?    By  whom  ? 

ALANA. 

I  know  but  this  ;  some  dire,  some  fatal  chance 
Hath  to  Roldan  disclosed  thy  bold  return. 
What  demon  hath  he  bought  to  track  thy  steps  ? 

GUEVAKA. 

This  is  some  dream,  some  frenzy  of  thy  fear. 

ALANA. 

Too  true,  too  fearful. 

GUEVARA. 

Why  am  I  still  safe  ? 

ALANA. 

Thank  Heaven  that  even  his  keen,  ferocious  eye 
Hath  never  reached  this  spot !     Here,  on  thy  breast, 
This  very  hour,  let  me  expire,  ere  meet 
Again  his  hated  glance  !     O  my  own  love, 
Such  numbing  terrors  steal  o'er  my  weak  heart, 
And  chill  my  blood,  I  scarce  can  wish  to  live  ! 

GUEVARA. 

If  my  retreat  is  unsuspected,  all 

May  yet  be  hoped.     Shake  off  this  withering  dread  ; 

Think  but  of  vengeance,  liberty,  and  love. 

ALANA. 

O  love  and  liberty  !  —  sweet  hopes,  sweet  sounds, 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  291 


That,  'mid  the  sunshine  of  my  heart,  breathed  forth 
All  harmonies  of  life,  all  melodies 
Of  nature's  voices,  as  in  day's  pure  light 
The  birds  pour  forth  their  joyous  carollings, 
And  thousand  insects  murmur  their  delights  ; 
But  as  the  sun  sinks,  sink  those  pleasant  notes  ; 
And  as  despair's  dark  night  falls  on  my  breast, 
That  music  of  my  soul  for  ever  dies  ! 

GUEVARA. 

My  woodland  flower,  so  tender  and  so  fair, 
Why  must  these  blasts  sweep  o'er  thy  lovely  head  ? 
Yet  rouse  thee,  dear  ;  't  is  treason  to  thy  knight 
To  shrink  and  tremble  when  his  arm  enfolds  thee. 
Be  firm  awhile.     How  didst  thou  learn  this  danger  ? 

ALANA. 

From  his  own  lips,  who  makes  thy  presence  danger  ; 
Who  swore  thy  death,  and  pointed  'gainst  my  breast 
His  gleaming  steel,  to  force  me  to  receive 
His  loathsome  love. 

GUEVARA. 

For  vengeance,  Heaven  !     Speak  on  ! 

ALANA. 

A  welcome  darkness,  like  the  shades  of  death, 
Hid  all  things  from  my  sight  and' sense.     I  woke 
Within  my  mother's  arms.     The  fiend  had  fled. 
Approaching  night  obscured  the  earth  and  sky. 
With  trembling  step,  yet  cautious  eye,  I  sped 
To  warn  thee,  and  to  weep  within  thine  arms. 


292  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


GUEVARA. 

My  rage  is  a  devouring  flame,  that  preys 
Upon  myself.     When  shall  I  give  it  vent 
Upon  this  ravening  wolf  ?     Alana,  speak 
Again  my  kinsman's  message.      Said  he  not 
All  was  prepared  ? 

ALANA. 

All,  all  ! 

GUEVARA. 

This  night 

The  tyrant  dies  !  —  Yet  what  is  death  ?     'T  is  riot 
Revenge. 

ALANA. 

'T  is  all  I  ask,  —  't  is  safety. 

GUEVARA. 

True. 
But  who  guides  De  Moxica  to  this  spot  ? 

ALANA. 

My  mother  ;  but  a  deeper  darkness  yet 

Must  make  the  attempt  secure.     Why  didst  thou  rush 

Upon  such  perils  ? 

GUEVARA. 

For  thy  love,  sweet  maid, 

Which  makes  the  peril  pastime.     Thou,  for  mine, 
Must  rule  thy  fears  and  steel  thy  throbbing  breast, 
For  if  we  win,  the  victory  is  thine  ; 
And  if  we  fail,  thou  'It  need  to  banish  all 
The  woman  from  thy  heart,  or  die  of  woe. 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  293 


ALANA. 

Ay,  I  behold  thee  now  glorying  in  youth, 

In  strength  and  beauty,  yet  a  few  short  hours 

May  banish  the  bright  vision,  —  't  is  too  bright 

To  bless  my  fond  eyes  long  !     Yes,  thou  mayst  fail. 

What  then  am  I  ?     The  Alcalde's  hopeless  slave,  — 

His  wife  !     Forbid  it,  Heaven  !     Yet  what  escape  ? 

GUEVARA. 

Save  through  the  avenues  of  death  there  Js  none. 
Alana,  my  own  love,  thou  hast  believed 
My  vows  of  fond  affection,  and  thy  heart 
Repays  them  all,  but  thou  canst  never  know, 
If  I  should  fall,  the  frenzy  of  my  passion,  — 
Know  all  that  proves  its  deathless  truth  :  high  hopes 
Of  honor,  rank,  and  fame,  thy  beaming  glance 
Hath  far  outshone,  and  now  I  stake  my  life, 
And  ask  but  one  return,  —  thy  promise,  love, 
Never  to  wed  my  enemy. 

ALANA. 

Think'st  thou 

I  am  so  little  mindful  of  my  faith  ? 
Dost  thou  suspect  my  fears  would  so  betray  me  ? 
Or,  trusting  in  my  love,  canst  thou  believe 
I  'd  live  to  wed  another  ? 

GUEVARA. 

Could  I  rest 

Within  my  bloody  grave  if  thou  wert  his  ? 
No  !    earth  should  gape  and  give  me  forth  again  ; 


294  'THE    NEW   WORLD. 


A  hideous  spectre  would  I  stand  before  thee, 

And  claim  ray  bride.     Then  swear,  my  own  Alana, 

To  be  my  own  in  death,  nor  crown  the  triumph 

Of  yon  barbarian.     (Holds  a  cross  before  her .)     See!   this 

holy  sign 

Of  love  and  truth,  I  taught  thee  to  adore. 
Let  thy  first  vow  on  it  be  for  my  sake, 
Who  gave  thine  eyes  its  light.     Alana,  kneel, 
And  let  thy  words  call  the  Great  Power  to  witness 
Thy  oath  of  faith. 

ALANA. 

Thy  will  is  mine.     I  swear  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Be  blessed,  my  gentle  one,  for  thy  sweet  love, 
Unsoiled  by  aught  of  this  world's  selfishness. 
I  hear  a  stealthy  tread.     My  kinsman  comes. 
One  kiss  !     Now  hie  thee  from  this  scene  of  gloom  ; 
Safe  in  thy  cot  await  the  rapturous  hour 
When  I  shall  clasp  thee  in  the  face  of  day, 
And  tell  of  victory  and  happiness. 
(Enter  ROLDAN.) 

ROLDAN. 

That  happiness  be  mine.     How  is  't,  young  sir, 
You  come  uncalled  ? 

GUEVARA. 

It  was  my  will,  Roldan  ! 

ROLDAN. 

Your  will  !     You  take  it  boldly.     Yet,  Senor, 


THE    NEW   WORLD.  295 

I  have  a  warrant  to  pull  down  your  pride. 
And  thou,  young  traitress,  dearly  shalt  thou  rue 
Thine  artful  dealing.     Nay,  unclasp  thine  arms, 
Soft  captors  of  the  knight ;  nor  think  thy  breast 
Will  shield  him  from  my  wrath. 

GUEVARA. 

Loose  me,  Alana  ! 

EOLDAN. 

Nay,  wait  thy  friends'  approach  !  they  are  at  hand, 
And  well  equipped. 

(REGUELME,  DE  MOXICA,  and  others  enter,  guarded.) 

GUEVARA. 

Thy  life  is  gone,  foul  despot  ! 

[They  fight,  GUEVARA  falls. 

O  life,  and  fame,  and  love  !  —  a  fevered  dream  ! 
Must  I  die  unrevenged  ?  —  Ay,  there  's  my  grief  ! 
Alana,  draw  thou  near,  that  I  may  look 
My  last  on  thee,  and  on  the  world  I  leave. 
Both  seem  more  lovely  to  my  waning  sight, 
Than  even  my  undimmed  vision  deemed  them. 

[ALANA  approaches  GUEVARA. 

ROLDAN. 

Back  ! 

Thou  art  my  slave,  —  won,  as  yon  traitor  wished, 
At  the  sword's  point.     Now  kneel  and  sue  for  mercy  ! 

ALANA. 

Alcalde,  I  defy  thee  !     In  my  breast 
The  Carib  spirit  rises  !     I  am  .strong 


296  THE    NEW   WORLD. 


In  resolution  to  escape  thy  power  ! 

Despair  discards  my  fears  !     Guevara,  see  ! 

I  shrink  not  from  my  oath  !     Now,  if  thou  lov'st  me, 

Death  shall  not  sever  us  !  —  Thy  dagger  !  —  quick  ! 

GUEVARA. 

To  part  from  thee  were  death  ;  to  die  with  thee 
Is  life.     No  more  my  spirit  would  delay, 
But  longs  with  thine  to  wing  her  upward  flight, 
Freed  from  the  woes  of  earth.     Dost  thou  not  tremhle  ? 

ALANA. 

No  !     There  is  but  one  tie.     Haste,  haste,  my  love  ! 
Strike,  ere  that  monster  dares  again  approach  ! 

GUEVARA. 

Still  let  me  gaze  on  thee  !     My  hand  is  weak 

To  mar  thy  loveliness  !     (Stabbing  her.)     Thus  art  thou 

saved  ! 
(Hurls  the  dagger  towards  ROLDAN,  who  groans  and  staggers  back.) 

Behold  a  noble's  vengeance  ! 

ALANA. 

See,  Roldan, 

The  slave  escapes  thee  !     Even  thy  iron  hand 
Cannot  withdraw  death's  prey  from  his  stern  grasp. 

[ANACAONA  rushes  in  with  a  shriek. 
That  voice  recalls  me  !  —  Mother,  I  depart 
Where  Spaniards  have  no  power  !     Guevara,  love, 
Let  thy  last  glance  rest  on  me  !  —  Thou  art  gone  ! 
I  haste  to  follow  thee  !  [Dies. 

(Enter  BEHECHIO.) 


THENEWWORLD.  397 


BEHECHIO. 

Thou  widowed  wife, 

And  childless  mother,  weep  not !     Stay  thy  tears  ; 
And  for  each  drop  let  countless  curses  fall 
On  the  destroyers  ! 

ANACAONA  (to  the  Spaniards). 

Ay,  ye  have  ta'en  all,  — 
All,  —  all  Anacaona's  treasures  !     Now 
Her  life  alone  remains.      Spaniards,  take  that, 
For  ye  have  made  it  desolate  ! 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

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